


The Convalescent Way

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Series: The King In Exile [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), Bisexual Loki (Marvel), Developing Relationship, Difficult Decisions, F/M, Family, Family Secrets, Gen, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Magic, Parenthood, Past Relationship(s), Post-Ragnarok, Responsibility, Reunions, Rituals, Sexual Content, Slow Romance, Suspicions, Thor Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 22:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 61
Words: 173,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: Loki and Thor must come to terms with their family secrets and their people’s devastation, and find their footing as the new leaders of Asgard.





	1. Standard Livery

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve seen the movie twice but I’m sure I’ve missed or misremembered things, so I’m just going to go ahead with what I’ve got. Forget about the mid-credits sequence for now; we’ll get to that later. (Or maybe not?) Comments are deeply appreciated, btw, even if it’s just to say ‘I liked it’. ♥

The ship that Loki and the gladiators had ‘liberated’ from the Grandmaster of Sakaar was nominally a cargo vessel, but it was in keeping with that being’s ostentatious and outrageous character that even a ship that he would never be caught dead on would still have hundreds of square meters of useless space, stupidly opulent crew quarters, and a fully stocked wet bar and DJ station in every room that could even remotely be considered ‘public’.

Which was definitely a plus in Thor’s mind, as he sat in the crew staff room with Loki and Heimdall, fourteen days after their flight from Asgard, watching Valkyrie work her way methodically through the exotic collection of bottles, because while the ship had copious amounts of drink, what it _lacked_ was any appreciable supply of food.

And they had five thousand Asgardian refugees on board.

“I need a definitive answer, people. How long will it take us to get to Earth?” Thor asked, one hand drumming the polished blue table, the other cradling his temple to soothe the pounding in his head.

Loki glanced at the others. “Thor, we’ve been over this.”

“I know, I know, but it’s been a very long two weeks and... just tell me again.”

Valkyrie put down the decanter she had just picked up. “Given the weight of the ship, the weight of the passenger compliment, the distance we need to travel and the fuel required... no less than sixteen months.”

“Sixteen months?” Thor opened his eye. “Last week, you said twelve months.”

“Last week, I thought we had a fully-stocked ship. Which we _should_ have had, according to the ship’s manifest,” she added, with a sidelong glance at Loki that was more exhaustion than annoyance, “but the bulk of it was apparently jettisoned to make extra room for the passengers.”

“You can’t actually be faulting me for that.”

“No,” said Heimdall quickly, forestalling what could have quickly become a heated argument, “but it means we are going to have to stop periodically on the journey, in order to resupply. And given how many people we have onboard, whatever rations we can take on will get eaten very quickly. Even if we had gotten the ship fully stocked, it wouldn’t have lasted. We have too many mouths to feed.”

“We’ve been traveling for two weeks already. What supplies do we have left?” asked Thor. “How long can we travel before we’ll have to stop?”

“At present? Only a few days.”

“I’ve been looking over the ship schematics,” Loki interjected, pulling up the conference table’s 3D modeler and displaying a map of the vessel. “With careful billeting of the people and by jettisoning whatever else we can spare, we can make enough room to hold a month’s worth of edibles and, theoretically, medical supplies, if we can find them. There’s a small amount of interstellar currency onboard, but there’s also a lot of useless equipment we can use in trade, or dump, if we have to.”

“Better to keep it,” Valkyrie advised. “We’ve got nothing else to use, so unless we plan to turn pirate...”

“See what you can do about stowing it elsewhere,” said Thor. He squinted at the model but could make little sense of it. “Loki, uh...”

“...Ah. Of course.” Impassively, Loki tapped a few keys and returned the schematic to a two-dimensional state. “Sorry. I haven’t had a chance to work up a seidr model, so this will have to do for now.”

“It makes no difference,” Thor replied, very gruffly. “So we will need to find a harbor. But where?”

“We are still within the reach of Yggdrasil. Vanaheim is nearest.” Heimdall’s golden eyes looked at each of them in turn, waiting for their reactions. Valkyrie and Loki both glanced at him, then at Thor, then, guiltily, down at the map. Thor alone looked up, past Heimdall, to the window that showed the black nothingness that surrounded them.

“Vanaheim,” he murmured. “It will be a strange thing, to try and land this great bulk there... They would at least be friendly to us still, I hope...” But at the thought of telling the Vanir what had befallen Asgard, and how, and why, and of telling Hogun’s family that he had been slain by Thor’s own sister, he recoiled. A sudden wave of cold revulsion crashed over him.

“Is there no way for us to avoid having to stop so often? Can we not speed up the journey to Earth?” Heimdall shook his head. Valkyrie let out a disbelieving laugh. “Loki, you have knowledge of how to travel quickly over vast distances. Is there any way you could...?”

“While I’m flattered by your confidence, brother, even if I was at my best, I couldn’t transport a ship full of five thousand people along the unseen paths.”

Thor frowned. “Not at your best? Loki, you are too modest! You were fighting fit during the battle!”

“Oh yes. ‘Fighting fit.’” Loki pushed back from the conference table, his face twisted into a scowl. “If Your Majesty will excuse me.” He offered Thor a small obeisance, a bow that was as respectful as a slap in the face, and stalked off.

Thor dropped his head into his hands. “Odin’s beard, I will never understand his moods... What did I say?”

The Valkyrie shrugged and reached for the decanter. Heimdall’s golden eyes rested on his king with some chastisement. “In all the years you’ve fought together, when have you known Loki to rely solely on his physical prowess in battle?”

The question took Thor aback. “Never. I saw him use projection once on Sakaar, and doubling, but... he used no magic at the final battle of Asgard. None at all.” The realization was like a blow to the head. “He impersonated Odin for four years. He kept up that illusion for the court, for the servants, for everyone... for four years.”

“He is exhausted,” said Heimdall. “And he has not had the rest he should have had, since.”

“He had weeks on Sakaar,” Thor began, but Valkyrie shook her head.

“Yeah, about that. Remember how he said he earned the Grandmaster’s favor? Well, he didn’t do that through sweet talking.”

“How did... no.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“It’s how things work on Sakaar. And the boss was notably fickle with his favorites. It usually took a lot longer to get on his good side.”

“He has gotten no rest since we left Asgard, either,” Heimdall continued dryly. “For similar reasons.”

Valkyrie choked on her liquor.

Thor opened his mouth, then shut it and stared while Valkyrie coughed and Heimdall sat between them with his usual implacable expression. “You and Loki—” The king stared for another five seconds and then threw back his head and laughed as he had not laughed in months.

“Glad we amuse you, Your Majesty,” Valkyrie snarled, getting up so fast that she toppled her chair.

“No, I – that’s not what I meant!”

She couldn’t slam the automatic door, but she made up for it by punching the wall as she stormed out of the conference room.

“Oh, that could have gone better,” Thor muttered.

“Mhmm.” Heimdall retrieved the decanter and poured what remained into two tumblers, passing one to Thor.

“It’s like poking a nest of vipers, trying to talk to them, sometimes. Especially Loki, although, really, that’s nothing new.”

“Even when you had two eyes, you could only see half the truth.” Thor looked at Heimdall sharply, wondering if those words had been of his own devising or if Odin was somehow speaking through the watcher.

“So what half am I missing?” Thor asked, exhaustion bleeding into his voice as he raised the tumbler to his lips.

“Loki’s truth.”

“You speak on his behalf now? After he had you declared an outlaw and a traitor while he sat on his stolen throne?”

“The past is past. I cannot see the future, only the present. And I see in the prince a restlessness that I have seen before.”

Thor set his glass down slowly. “You believe Loki will betray me again.”

“No. But I believe he could be dangerous.”

“He _is_ dangerous,” Thor corrected, not without a sense of fraternal pride, remembering when Strange had said that Loki was included on his list of ‘extra-planetary threats’. “He is a Prince of Asgard. He would not be fit for that title if he was not so.”

“Oh, he’s fit for the title.” Heimdall lifted his own glass in a silent toast to the dead. “Even when I knew he was not of the king’s blood, I knew he was of the king’s heart. I have never doubted the rightness of his place in your family. That is why I said nothing, at first, when I saw what he had done.”

Thor’s face darkened. “When he abandoned Father on Midgard?”

“No. That is when I turned traitor. No, at first he kept Odin in the palace, asleep. I could see for myself that the king was weary with grief and age, and though the prince had come to the throne by subterfuge...” He struggled for his next words, and it was plain to Thor that the decision weighed on him. “He wanted power, yes. But he wanted respect, and to prove that he _could_ be king, and perhaps to atone for some of his crimes. Atonement cannot come from imprisonment, only from living. And I remembered, when he was a child, when he would spend hours in the observatory, asking me questions about the universe, and fall asleep on the floor with his hunger for knowledge still unsated...” The watcher shook his head and drained his glass. “I should have spent more time watching Asgard. I would have seen the darkness gathering in his heart centuries ago. I failed him, as much as any of your family did.”

“And you wanted to give him another chance.”

“Loki was never disinherited by your father. The throne was his by right, in spite of his crimes. There was no other choice. My queen was dead, my king incapacitated, and the heir to the throne had renounced his birthright and gone to Earth.”

Thor recalled that final conversation with his father, when Odin had offered him the throne, and he, Thor, had turned it down. He knew now that it was Loki, but in remembering, Thor could not do his brother the injustice of saying that he had tried to manipulate him. All that Loki-as-Odin had said was straight forward and plain. “If I had chosen differently that day... if I had chosen to remain on Asgard...”

“Loki might have revealed himself.”

“After faking his own death?” Thor asked. And then he laughed, realizing the answer. “Of course he would have. Ever the dramatist. And then when I made my choice... I condemned Asgard.”

“Not condemned.”

“No?”

“He was... not the worst king Asgard has ever had.”

Thor had to chuckle at that. “Well, that has to count for something.”

* * *

He had thought to find his brother in his quarters, or in the ship’s luxurious ‘gymnasium’, a place which lacked practical features for exercise and combat training but did possess a great many padded surfaces and ornate showers for dubious usage. Instead, after an hour or so of searching, he found Loki in a small, cluttered cargo hold, one that had been deemed too awkward and inconvenient to be pressed into service as living space.

It felt tight and uncomfortable to Thor, but he could well imagine that the small, close space would feel comforting to Loki, still struggling with feeling awkward and inconvenient himself.

His brother was sitting on a crate, his back against an I-beam, one leg drawn up to his chest, throwing a dagger against a bulkhead about ten paces away. Thor knew the pose; it was an old habit of Loki’s, from childhood, to escape trouble and sulk in a quiet place, though in the past, it had been into a disused part of the palace stables, where he might shred the wood to pieces without drawing attention to himself. The sudden rush of nostalgia brought a few tears to Thor’s eyes and a smile to his lips, but the smile faded when he realized that Loki was throwing a single dagger into the bulkhead, over and over again, and calling the dagger back each time, as Thor had once called Mjolnir. But even in their childhood, Loki would simply materialize blades from some secret dimensional repository, and throw a new dagger each time. It had been the custom for Thor and his friends to gauge Loki’s displeasure by the number of knives he had thrown. If he could no longer muster the energy for that...

Loki called the dagger back to his hand, and then paused. “I’m up to a hundred and thirty-five, if you want to know.”

“That angry?”

“That bored. Took you long enough to find me.”

“Well, the layout is a bit different from the palace.” Thor crouched down beside his brother. “How’d you know I was coming?”

“You _always_ come looking for me, whether I want you to or not. And I heard you bang your head on the door back there.”

Thor rubbed his forehead ruefully. “You’re, uh...” He blinked in the dim light of the cargo hold. “You changed back to the colors from Sakaar.”

Loki paused in mid-throw and slowly rotated his head to stare at Thor. “You clambered all the way down here to point _that_ out?”

“I only just noticed! You wore the green and black during the battle!”

Loki rolled his eyes and threw the dagger. Too hard; it went wild of its mark. He swore under his breath and called it back.

“It’s been weeks. Aren’t you going to change back?”

“Don’t you like it? I rather think the blue and purple suit me nicely.”

It did, though Thor was not in a mood to admit it. “It makes you look less like an underfed goblin,” he teased reflexively. “But more like a stranger. You wore the green and the black for over a thousand years. I’ve never seen you in any other colors.”

“Yes, well,” said Loki, looking rather put-out. “It was appropriate during the battle, but afterward, I realized I no longer wanted to wear the standard livery of ‘Odin’s Most Ashamed-Of Child’.”

“It must be nice,” Thor grinned, “to have that off your shoulders.”

“...What?”

“To not be the worst child in the family anymore.”

Loki’s face expressed eloquently that he hadn’t thought of that before, and didn’t much care for it now. “Rather cold comfort, considering that we don’t have much of a family anymore. If all that are left are you and me, I’m still the worst person here.”

“Do you say that as a point of pride?” Thor demanded. “Or merely to bait me?”

“If it gets you out of my hair, then yes, Thor, being the worst person left in Asgard makes me feel tremendously good about myself.” Loki turned and threw the dagger with far more force than was necessary, burying it so deeply in the bulkhead that his seidr was unable to call it back. “Damn.” He got up and walked over to the wall with long, stiff strides, and wrenched the blade out, and then leaned his forehead against the cool thin metal of the partition. “We should go to Vanaheim,” he said quietly. “We need the supplies. And that’s where Sif was last. When the Warriors Three returned from their last mission, I ordered Sif to stay behind, to be my ears... to be Odin’s ears on the ground. As far as I know, she never returned to Asgard.”

When he turned around, Thor was still sitting on the floor, looking up at him with one clear blue eye. “You helped save our people, using nothing but the strength of your mind and your hands. You could have escaped on your own, but you didn’t. You came back, even though your magic is weakened. You’re a hero to our people, and a credit to the royal family.”

Loki’s jaw tightened. He snorted softly. “I’m a fraud, Thor. In more ways than you know.”

“Our resident Valkyrie doesn’t seem to think so.”

“...Oh _shit_.”

“Brother, think you I would jest you, over this?” Thor scrambled to his feet, clunking his head on the low ceiling. Again. “I’m happy for you. It has been a very long time since—”

“Thor,” said Loki tiredly. “Don’t. Don’t mention her name, don’t bring it up... just don’t.”

“But—”

“Do you really think I’ve been celibate for the last four centuries?”

Thor made a face. “No, of course not. You’ve had vastly more lovers than I’ve had, I know that.”

“Only because you limit your choices to women. Still, I’m glad I have at least one area of expertise you don’t care to challenge me in.”

“But surely Valkyrie—”

“It’s just sex, Thor,” Loki snapped, shoving his dagger back into its sheath inside his sleeve. “You don’t need to make anything more of it than it is.”

“I make nothing of it,” retorted Thor. “I only wished to offer—”

“What? Your congratulations? To proclaim your boundless masculine pride that your skinny little brother managed to bed the last of the Valkyries? Save it.” He pushed past Thor and started for the door.

“To say that I am glad that you’re not alone.”

Loki stopped dead in his tracks. Thor watched as a sort of tremor passed over his body, and hoped he would turn back. “And still you do not understand,” said Loki softly. “I have always been alone.”

He left Thor in the cargo hold.


	2. The Cruelest Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex, booze, bondage, threats of bodily harm, snark, and unexpectedly honest angst: just another night in Loki's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one upside to being on a Marvel kick right now is that I can blame the goddamned God of Mischief for keeping me up past midnight working on his fic, _and_ for waking me up at fucking five in the fucking AM to get back to work on it.
> 
> Kudos and comments are all deeply appreciated, btw, even if it’s just to say ‘I liked it’. ♥

“There’s also,” Loki pointed out, once he’d gotten his breath back, “the question of the beast.”

Valkyrie glared down at him and smacked his bare shoulder. “You,” she said, “need to stop calling him that.”

“And what would you prefer I call him, hmm? ‘The giant green rage monster’? ‘The big guy’? ‘The Valkyrie’s mighty steed’—oh _fuck_ …” Loki’s head thudded back against his pillow as she clenched around him. The cuffs and chains she had stolen from the gym and used to bind him to the bed clinked in time to the rhythm she set.

“That’s a better name for you,” she replied with a smirk. “Now, what about the Hulk?”

“Well, we have to do _something_ about him. He’s taking up far too much room, eats a week’s rations in one sitting, and all it’s going to take is one good temper tantrum and we’ll have a catastrophic hull breech on our hands.”

From out of nowhere, Valkyrie produced a knife and held it with expert precision against Loki’s unprotected throat. Instinctively, he jerked against his chains, though he knew his safe-word wasn’t going to help him now. “If you even so much as _breathe_ the word ‘airlock’—”

“...I wasn’t going to mention it.”

“No, you were just going to take care of it. Quietly.”

“Much as it would give me great satisfaction to introduce your pet monster to the cold unfeeling vacuum of space, I have no such plans. I prefer to stay as far away from the beast as possible, thanks.”

“You’re very flippant, Loki, for a man who’s currently tied to his own bed.”

He grinned. He wasn’t entirely sure how he and the last of the Valkyrior had ended up as antagonistic bedmates and sparring partners, but it was the most fun he’d had with a lover in centuries. “I don’t know, that sounds like the best time to be flippant, to me.” He swallowed. Carefully. “Though the knife is somewhat less than arousing, at the present moment.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I would have sworn you got even harder the moment the blade touched your skin.” But she pulled back from his neck and laid the blade down on the bed, well out of his reach even if he managed to work an arm free.

Which, of course, he would not attempt. Where was the fun in that?

“What I was actually thinking of,” Loki continued nonchalantly, as though he was not gently rocking his hips beneath her in a steady rhythm, “was seeing if there's anything in the medbay that we can use to tranquilize the beast enough to trigger a return of the man. A scientist of Banner’s caliber would be very useful, and would take up far less space.”

Valkyrie leaned forward, matching his rhythm and bracing herself with a hand on either side of the ragged round scar on Loki’s chest. She kissed him quickly, nipping his lips and his tongue. “I hate to admit it,” she said, her breath just beginning to quicken, “but the big guy is creating a hell of a weight problem. But what can we use that Banner hasn’t tried before? And without making Hulk angrier?”

“Anything on this ship, I would... _oh_...” Loki licked his lips and strained against the cuffs, wanting to touch her, to grip her hips and flip her over and mold his body against against hers until they melted together. She snapped her hips and cried out as she spasmed around him, and he was lost.

“You were saying?” Valkyrie mumbled against his sternum.

Loki was momentarily distracted by the sight of her hair, wild and disheveled, fanned out over his chest. “Anything on the ship would work, I would imagine,” he murmured, brushing his lips over the crown of her head, “since he won’t have any immunities to Sakaaran chemicals. Unless you had to drug him when you brought him before the Grandmaster?”

“No drugs. No obedience disks. Just a nice calm non-threatening voice.” She raised her head and leveled a tired smirk at her lover. “He lets himself be taken advantage of by women. Not unlike someone else I know.”

Loki opened his mouth to retort, and then was struck dumb with horror. “Oh no. No... nope, it’s in my brain now.”

“Not like that, you pig.” She punched his shoulder and rolled unceremoniously off him. He hissed sharply as the cool air of the cabin hit his wet cock.

Valkyrie grabbed the controller off the bedside table and pressed the button to release Loki. He didn’t bother to sit up, only rubbed lightly at his wrists where he had pulled too hard. “You can’t be that afraid of him. I fucked you through that entire conversation.”

“It takes a lot to distract me when I’m inside someone,” Loki replied, with a low laugh.

“So you _are_ afraid of him.”

“I have a healthy respect for him, as I would for anyone who can and has thrashed me about like a rag doll. I’ll still be letting you administer the injection.”

“Lazy arse,” said Valkyrie, with something almost like fondness. She slipped into his en suite bathroom.

Loki retrieved her dagger from between the sheets, thought about hiding it some place she would never find it, decided the risk of having his balls cut off outweighed the chance for fun, and set it on the bedside table. He stretched his arms and legs out until his muscles begged for mercy, so that the cut-string sensation when he relaxed flooded his body with a sleepy warmth. He wasn’t used to being quite so comfortable anymore, and the temptation to drift off was strong... but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep while Valkyrie was there. A pity, really. It had been a long time since he had fallen asleep with anyone beside him.

“What about seidr?” she called, over the sound of running water.

“Hmm? What about it?”

“Word is among the people that you were quite the magician, back on Asgard. Isn’t there anything you can try for the Hulk?”

His eyes darkened at the use of the past tense. He knew that some of the discussion after his abrupt departure from the meeting that morning had been about him, and even without Thor being the last to notice, as usual, it had not escaped the eyes of people used to Loki’s pranks that the god of mischief had been singularly non-mischievous, since their departure. _For ten centuries, they complained and cajoled and disdained. And now that I’m indisposed, they all want magical solutions to their problems. Typical._

“I’ve tried it already,” he lied. “Asgardian magic doesn’t seem to have much effect on the beast.”

“What about Midgard? Do they have magicians or sorcerers of their own?”

“There’s only one sorcerer on Earth that I know of, and I would be very happy never to see him again. Apparently I’m on his special alien villain watch list. He’s probably going to forbid me to settle there.”

“For a man who prides himself on his charm, you’re very good at pissing people off.”

_“I HAVE BEEN FALLING—”_

_so cold so dark nothing nothing can’t see can’t hear can’t feel help me kill me find me help me_

_“—FOR THIRTY MINUTES!”_

Loki shook his head sharply and forced out a laugh. “You have the oddest idea of pillow-talk.”

She came out of the bathroom, rolling her eyes and pulling her cascade of brown hair into a ponytail. She was not, Loki noted approvingly, a woman who felt the need to resume her clothing, post-coitus. “Drink?”

“Have you eaten yet today? After what happened the other day, I do have to check.”

“Don’t worry, Lackey, I won’t throw up on you again.”

“Thank you, _Val_.” She pitched the crystal stopper of a decanter at his head, which he caught without seeming to move. “Yes, I’ll have one.”

She poured the least vile of the several liquors in the bedroom, a greenish-yellow substance with an oily texture that could have probably doubled for some kind of hair care product. Loki was beginning to think about giving up alcohol altogether, after this voyage was done. “Mind if I ask you a question, your highness?

“You may ask,” Loki allowed, graciously.

“That’s a hell of a scar.” Valkyrie gestured with her glass at Loki’s chest, where the ragged, oddly-colored circle decorated his sternum. “And a matching one on the back. How’d you come by those?”

“We’ve been sleeping together for two weeks and you’re just getting around to this question now?” Loki raised himself up on one elbow and smirked. “Nice to know that you and Thor are equally perceptive about what’s going on around you.”

“I’ve been _preoccupied_.”

“Oh? With what?”

“With who. And I have _noticed_ before now, but you haven’t asked about any of my scars, so I was going to leave yours alone. But after what Heimdall said at the meeting, about your magic being weakened…” Loki flinched, and she trailed off. “What happened to you?”

“...A Kursed blade, on Svartelheim.”

“You fought one of the Kursed? And you survived?” Her tone made it clear that she was impressed in spite of herself. “Maybe you really are more than just a good lay.”

“Oh, come on, I am more than just ‘good’.”

“I’ve got a lot of years on you, princeling,” Valkyrie reminded him, filling a second glass and leaning over to press a teasing kiss to his lips before draping herself over his bed. “Stop trying to impress me for five minutes and you just might learn something.”

Loki took the glass and admired the picture she made, splayed naked across pale blue sheets. “I promise to be a very eager student,” he purred, lowering his eyes and letting his smile spread across his cheeks.

It was a technique that almost never failed him, but instead of diverting Valkyrie’s attention, it only made her more intent upon answers. “What happened on Svartelheim? I know you and Thor went there, with some mortal or other, to stop Malekith. He’s told me that much. And that you faked your death—”

His good mood winked instantly out of existence. “It was an afterthought,” said Loki harshly. He took a gulp of the greenish liquor in his glass, grimacing at the slick texture and the trail of fire it blazed over his throat. “I died there, Valkyrie. No tricks, no illusions... I died that day.” He glanced at her, expecting, _hoping_ to see some kind of derision in her eyes so that he could lash out in kind, but there was nothing. Only a sudden, almost frightening expression of understanding. “The mortal hardly mattered. Thor stole me from my cell beneath the palace, to avenge our mother’s murder at Malekith’s hands. And we did it, but in the process... well, I did something out of character. Something crazy and heroic and _stupid_ , all because I didn’t want to see my ox of a brother be slaughtered in front of me.”

“And you got the blow that was meant for him.”

“Something like that. And then... I died. In his arms. I felt the breath leave my body, and all the chaos and noise dimmed away. And then—”

“And then you were falling into nothingness,” Valkyrie said softly, “watching everything you ever loved and fought for and bled for fading away, and there was nothing you could do.”

Loki stared at her with haunted eyes. “Yes. How...?”

“Because I know what that’s like. Because that’s what happened to me, when the rest of the Valkyrior were slaughtered. I died that day... and I woke up on Sakaar.” She snorted into her glass and shook her head. “How’s that for a disappointment? You fall down expecting Valhalla and wake up in a junk heap.”

“I didn’t even expect that much.” Loki tried to take another sip of the oily stuff, but his hand was shaking and his stomach heaved at the thought of swallowing any more.

“At least you finished what you set out to do,” said Valkyrie, her voice dropping into bitterness. “You didn’t have to watch your friends die in droves around you, and see your lover cut down as you fell, and then have death snatched away from you like a good conduct medal at school that you didn’t actually earn, and be forced to spend the rest of your life mourning the loss of the only woman whose—”

“The only woman whose love you ever prized. A day, a week, a hundred years... it doesn’t matter. It’s a heartbeat.” Loki bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “You’re never ready.” And then he let out a sigh that was almost a laugh, at the look on her face. “Oh yes. I know what that’s like.”

“Oh, sure, you _know_ ,” Valkyrie snorted. “You know heartbreak. The way all kids know heartbreak. A pet, a parent, a childhood sweetheart – but it’s not the same, you know. So. Who was she? Or he? Some good-looking court lady or Einherjar that the pretty little prince loved and lost because they found someone else?”

But Loki didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his long fingers toyed with the delicate stem of his glass, almost nervously. “...I was married once,” he said at last. “Some centuries ago. Not for long, maybe a hundred and fifty years. But they were _good_ years. We did it for a joke, more than anything else… but when the joke had run its course, she chose to remain my wife. She was… well, she was the only person who I _knew_ had no ulterior motives about claiming to love me. I never…” He swallowed hard. “I’ve never doubted her. Not then, not now. Not even in my darkest moments. And when she left... I fell back into old habits. I don’t say that her leaving contributed to my subsequent poor life choices, but... it certainly didn't help.”

“Why’d she leave?”

“I wish I knew.”

“And you never saw her again?”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw spasmed.

* * *

_It had been years since Loki had dreamed of Sigyn, and longer since he had seen the pale gleam of her hair or the glint of her cornflower eyes, but he could never forget them, no more than he could forget the first time he had hefted the dagger she placed in his clumsy fingers and gone through his first blade training, under Frigga’s watchful eye. Sigyn had been teacher, friend, wife, and then lover, and she was imprinted upon his soul like a warm hand against a pane of ice._

_“Odinson,” she sighed. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”_

_The thought of correcting her never even crossed his mind. She was there, in his cell. Of that he was certain. Her presence felt **real** , neither vision nor dream, but he could not bring himself to touch her. “Why did you leave, Sigyn?”_

_She spread her arms wide, as though trying to encompass all of the Nine Realms. “Asgard grew too small for me.”_

_“And I?”_

_“You? What about you? It was never anything personal, husband.”_

_Loki gritted his teeth against a sudden cry of rage. It was never anything personal. Odin, Thor, Thanos... his own wife. He was nothing more than a means to an end for any of them. “Why did you leave me, Sigyn? I know I wasn’t exactly a husband to brag over, but I thought we were happy together.”_

_Her nonchalant facade dropped away. “We **were** happy, weren’t we... Oh, Loki, I have missed you.”_

_And then she was in his arms, kissing him with a passion and a love he had thought never to feel again, and she was most definitely real._

_The glowing white and gold around them seemed to melt away, and all that was left in the universe were Loki and the woman who had deigned to marry him for a joke, nearly half a millennium before. “Why did you leave?”_

_“Because I had to. Do not ask me to explain, but you must believe me, Loki: **I did not want to go.** ”_

_“And... are you back now? Have you come home?”_

_Her smile against his lips was inexpressibly sad. “Have you?”_

_“I...” His fingers knotted in the shimmer of her hair. There was no answer to her question, none that he could give voice to. “I have no home anymore. This place is my prison.”_

_Sigyn sighed, and pressed herself more tightly to his chest. “I would share even this place with you, if I could.” She leaned her forehead against his, and touched the cloth over his heart. “I am always with you, my husband. Here, wherever you go. But where **I** go, you cannot follow. Not yet.”_

_She slipped from his embrace. Loki tried to cling to her fingers, to hold her for even a single moment longer, but suddenly it was as though she was not there, had never been there at all, and the brightness of his cell was the cruelest of curses._

* * *

“Never,” he said, rubbing at his chest. It felt uncomfortably tight. He looked at the glass in his hand and suddenly, savagely, he hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, sending sending green droplets and crystal dust spraying out over the carpet. It hardly mattered; he would clean it up later.

Valkyrie said nothing, neither in jest nor in apology. Instead, she hitched herself up the bed, glass in hand, to lie alongside him, pillowing her head on his shoulder. “There was another woman, centuries later. I mean, there were always women, and men, but this was... serious. I went into business with her, one thing led to another...”

“It often does.”

“She even got me off Sakaar for a little while. She had a young kid, young enough where he’d call us both ‘Mom’ without thinking, and she wanted me around but she didn’t want him anywhere near Sakaar, so I went with her. Did salvage work, bit of bounty hunting... And for a few years, it was good. The flashbacks stopped, the memories started to fade... it was like being part of a real family again.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, I fucked it up. Couldn’t stay out of the bottle. She tried to help but she didn’t want that around her son, so she gave me the boot. Never blamed her a bit. I went back to Sakaar and she went back to whatever the hell she was doing before we met. We kept in touch for a while, but eventually...” Valkyrie shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Indeed.” Loki grabbed the half-empty bottle and clinked it against her glass. “The hell with it. Here’s to fucking it all up.”

“Yep. Cheers, your highness.”


	3. Childish Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki struggles to maintain the illusion of control, while for the others, the reality of what they have lost slowly begins to sink in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always deeply appreciated, even if it’s just to say ‘I liked it’. ♥

It was late. Loki lay on his back in bed, alone, with only a light blanket pulled up to his waist. The scent of his lover and the heavy smell of sex lingered in spite of the ship’s air recycling system. Valkyrie had shambled into enough of her clothes to be able to make it down the hall to her own room and collapse there. Much as Loki would have liked for her to stay the whole night, she wouldn’t consent to share his bed for simple sleeping, and he refused to press the matter. It allowed him to make a virtue of a necessity.

His wrists and thighs and stomach muscles all ached pleasantly. His head and his chest, however, hurt like hell.

“Every night,” he muttered through gritted teeth, rubbing the scars on his chest with increasingly urgent fingers. “Every damned night!” He clawed the thick purplish scar tissue as a dog clawed for a bone, as though he was trying to dig something out. His finger tips prickled and burned with magical fire.

He gasped sharply, struggling for breath, and when he exhaled, it was a cloud of fog into an increasingly cold room.

With a groan, he threw the blanket off and lurched into the bathroom, and gulped down water directly from the faucet. It tasted sterile and thick on his tongue, but it quenched his thirst for the moment. He splashed more water onto his face and chest and arms, trying to cool himself down.

When Loki glanced up at the mirror, the reflection was one out of his nightmares. Red eyes burning from an ice-blue face.

Fighting down the urge to scream, he closed his eyes and reached into his dwindling store of seidr energy, dragging his Asgardian visage back over his face like a shroud.

He knew he should let it go at night. The Valkyrie wouldn’t come back until morning, and there were locks and wards on the door to keep others out... and they would be even stronger if he wasn’t using up his reserve power to maintain an illusion that no one but himself would see.

But... he was frightened. It had never taken any kind of effort to hide his Jotunn appearance before. For most of his life, the shift had been entirely unconscious, one he hadn’t even been aware he was maintaining. And though he might lie to himself and to others with ease during the day, at night, along, among the shadows, the truth was that he was terrified to let the mask falter, for fear that he wouldn’t be able to bring it back.

* * *

“You two look a bit worse for wear,” said Thor drily, when Loki and Valkyrie turned up at the morning council meeting looking pale and badly-rested, with circles under their eyes. “Busy night?”

Valkyrie ignored him and made a beeline for the meager breakfast on the conference room’s sideboard. Loki threw a tablet at his brother. “Here’s the supply manifest you asked for.”

“I didn’t ask for a supply manifest—”

“I know, and that was stupid of you.” Loki dropped down into a chair opposite Thor and reached for a carafe of wine. “We needed to know what our non-essential cargo is, so we’ll have something to trade with, when we get to Vanaheim. The equipment itself will be useless to them, but there are a lot of good metals and valuable minerals they’ll be able to extract from the scrap. It should be more than enough to buy in a feasting hall’s worth of bread and stockfish, if nothing else.”

“And you’ll handle the trade negotiations, of course.”

Loki froze, looking up at Thor in surprise. “You’re not serious.”

“I am emphatically serious. Delicate negotiations were never my specialty, and I don’t have my hammer anymore, so I can’t just break the bargaining table the way I used to.”

“It’s Vanaheim, they like you there. I hardly think you’ll have to break anything to get what you want. Unless it’s someone’s bed again...”

“Heimdall, Valkyrie, how are the people settling in?” asked Thor quickly, not wanting _that_ story to be bandied about over breakfast.

“They are settling,” said Heimdall, “because they have no other alternative.” Valkyrie sat down beside him, and as she lifted a glass of brandy to her lips, Heimdall quietly removed it and replaced it with a glass of water.

Loki pushed back quickly from the table and Thor glanced around for a convenient corner to hide in.

“Sorry,” said Heimdall. “But it has to last.”

Valkyrie stared at him for several long, tense moments... and then drank the water.

Both king and prince breathed a sigh of relief, and Loki resumed his wine. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, in response to the others pointed looks. “This is absolute garbage. I’m doing the ship a favor.” He sipped the greenish-yellow fluid and grimaced. “Normally I’d just wave my fingers over it and turn it into water, but unfortunately, I have to settle for the slower, old-fashioned way. The ship’s got a top-notch water recycling system, by the way.”

“Water, at least, is not something we have to worry about,” Heimdall continued, waiting until Thor had filled his plate before beginning on his own meal. “And food we will find as we can. But there are other requirements. Clothes, bedding, necessities for the women and young children.”

“Are there many children?” Loki asked.

Thor hid a smile in a mouthful of bread. His brother had always been fond of children. It was his most redeeming feature, though not one he had shown much of, in latter years.

“Not many,” said Heimdall, pushing a handwritten list towards the prince. “There are a hundred and twenty children who have not yet reached puberty, a hundred and fifty who have passed it, and seventy youths who will attain their majority before we reach Earth. There are ten pregnant women very near their time, and forty mothers with suckling babes. And given the close quarters,” Heimdall added, with the dry smile of one who understood far too well, “we’ll probably have more before the year is out.”

Loki, Thor and Valkyrie traded stunned glances over their meal. Three hundred and eighty children, with ten soon to be born. Fewer than four hundred children among five thousand adult refugees were all that remained of their people’s future.

Loki slowly curled his long fingers around the scrap of parchment, scanning the names. “When I was younger,” he said, to no one in particular, “I used to go with my mother to the schools in the city. The infant creches, the school for the children of the Einherjar, the royal academy. Thor and his friends would always tease me, especially when the queen and I went to the creches... but the children looked forward to seeing me.” His pale face was as expressionless as if it had been carved out of ice.

“I remember,” said Thor gently. “When we were boys, you used to get so excited when Mother planned trips to the schools. You would spend days devising new tricks for their amusement.”

“Why did you stop?” Valkyrie asked, her eyes far away, in a distant past where she too had been held in awe by Asgard’s children.

“Odin.” Loki breathed in sharply through his nose and sat back. “He wanted me to focus on weapons training and diplomacy, and put away ‘childish’ things.” He clenched his fingers around his wine glass, but opted to not repeat his fit of temper of the night before. Instead, he rose stiffly and stalked over to the sideboard. “One of Volstagg’s sons is on that list, Thor. Alaric.”

Thor closed his eye against a wave of sudden sorrow. One of Volstagg’s sons... one child, out of the five his merry mountain of a friend had sired. “I will see to the boy,” he vowed. “And we should... we should move on.”

“That,” said Loki, pulling grapes from a bunch with his teeth, “is what we’re trying to do.”

“What about the others, from Sakaar?”

“Korg and his gladiators are helping as best as they can,” Heimdall reported. “But the Hulk is... sulking. In a cargo bay.”

“‘Sulking’?” asked Thor uneasily.

“Pacing, muttering, hitting things. Sulking.”

“He’s _bored_. And he’s surrounded by very tiny frightened people who he’s not allowed to smash.” Valkyrie eyed the glass of brandy that Heimdall was still guarding. “Who wouldn’t sulk? He—” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Loki. “—mentioned something about a tranquilizer, to change him back into that Banner guy.”

“Loki,” Thor warned, “if this is another one of your tricks—”

“It’s not. For once. The beast is not an asset right now, but a brilliant scientist would be. And frankly, it would be nice to be able to wander the ship without worrying that I’m about to be punched out of an airlock.” Loki returned to the table, and the grapes in his hands became the bottles of chemicals he had found in the ships medical bays. “It won’t be an injection,” he said, mostly to Valkyrie. “I forgot – the Hulk’s hide is practically impenetrable. So this will have to be administered orally. And I’ll need you to do it. He’ll take food and drink from you without fear.”

Valkyrie’s hand shot out and gripped Loki’s wrist. “That’s why this had better work, prince. Understand me?”

“Perfectly. Now, if I can get on with this?”

“Uh, excuse me, who’s the king here?”

Valkyrie and Loki glared at him.

“Just making sure we’re all still on the same page, since you both seem to be making decisions without me.”

“My king,” Heimdall chided.

“Thank the Norns for someone with a little common sense,” Loki muttered. He pushed aside plates and cups to clear a space in which to work, and chose a small vial to begin his compounding.

Valkyrie picked up another one. She read the Sakaaran script on the label and her eyebrows went up. “This is illegal as shit. Actually,” she continued, glancing at the other bottles, “all of these drugs are illegal in several dozen civilized systems. And with very good reason. Are you positive you know what you’re doing?”

“My skills at potion-making were well-known among the royal court, I’ll have you know.”

“Well-known, yes,” Thor confirmed with a small grin. “Well-regarded, that’s another story.”

Loki spared him only a quick glare as he eyeballed the correct amounts of the various chemicals, many of which he did not recognize by name, but identified via simple spells under his breath to discern their molecular compositions. “I can promise you one thing,” he said, a hint of distaste in his voice. “I never used any of my sleeping draughts for the purposes these drugs were intended for.”

“We should have a back-up plan,” Thor said. “Just in case this goes horribly, violently wrong.”

“You’re the God of Thunder, plan something horribly violent,” said Loki shortly, shaking the vial with the compounded tranquilizer. “I just play tricks. Now, find me some disgustingly strong liquor or a pumpkin or something to hide this in.”


	4. Making Friends With the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki plots, Thor plans, and Valkyrie wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this fic and series, I am ignoring the deleted scene from the first movie where Loki is revealed to be a bastard. It's not in the final cut, so I'm exercising Author's Prerogative. Just... keep that in mind.
> 
> Comments are always deeply appreciated, even if it’s just to say ‘I liked it’. ♥

“Well,” said Thor, looking down at Bruce Banner’s peacefully sleeping form. “That was anti-climactic.”

“And all it took was a pumpkin,” replied Loki smugly.

They hauled Bruce into empty quarters in the same corridor they all shared. Valkyrie would stay, to keep a close watch on him until he woke, and in case Loki’s serum wore off too quickly. The Hulk knew and trusted her most, out of all of them.

While the others stood talking in the corridor, in his dreams, Bruce Banner saw a familiar face, framed in red hair, with a wry smile on her lips and a carefully concealed look of worry in her eyes. “Hey, big guy,” Natasha said, stroking his forehead. “It’s going to be okay. The doctors just need to take a blood sample and then you can go back to sleep.”

“Mmkay,” Bruce muttered, barely feeling the needle before he dropped back into a deep, dreamless rest.

Loki rose silently from where he had knelt next to Bruce’s bed. He felt shaky on his feet and utterly drained with the effort of the projection, but he had what he had come for. He pocketed the small vial of blood and slipped away to his own room to pass out for a few hours before lunch, while Thor and Valkyrie were still conversing with his simulated double.

* * *

At the daily assembly, which was less formal þing than it was a convenient time to talk to the majority of the refugees while they gathered for the midday distribution of foodstuffs, Thor proclaimed his intention to travel to Vanaheim for supplies. “We are already on course, and will reach it tomorrow. I know many of you have kin among the Vanir. Any who wish to remain in Vanaheim after we are through with our trading, may do so, with my blessing.”

After the announcement, Loki caught Thor’s arm as he stepped down from the pile of crates that had been strapped together to make a stage. “If I might speak to the king in private?”

There was a deference in his words that both pleased Thor and put him on his guard. While it was good to have his brother as a supportive non-combatant, it was also off-putting. “There’s no need for formalities, brother,” he said, gripping Loki’s shoulder.

“Actually, there is.” Loki nodded his head towards the assembly. “They expect it.”

“We are _family_ ,” said Thor firmly. “I won’t have—”

Loki rolled his eyes and dragged Thor out of the mess hall and down the corridor into the command staff’s private mess. “Thor. I spent four years as king of Asgard. Four tedious, boring, ceremonial years full of mostly pointless duties and responsibilities. If I learned anything about why I am unfit to rule Asgard, it’s that. I have no patience for empty ceremony. I tried doing away with it, but it was practically courting open rebellion. It makes the people comfortable to have their king follow protocol. You can’t simply discard it because of sentiment.”

“You think too little of sentiment. Caring for others does not make you weak.”

“And caring for others in ways they dislike does not make you kind,” Loki retorted. “Now for once in your life, _listen_ to me. I don’t enjoy deferring to you. After spending centuries in your shadow, how do you think it makes me feel to realize _this_ is truly the only role I have left in life?”

“I... don’t know. I never considered—”

“Try it,” Loki said shortly. “Think – and I know it’s hard for you, but use what few brain cells you managed to inherit from Mother and _think_ about what your people really need from you, not just what you believe is best for them. Because they’re not always going to be able to be honest with you. Trust me, I’m a liar, I know these things. You have to put their welfare before your own comfort, and that means doing what’s right _for them_ , not what brings you the most satisfaction.”

Thor stared at him in utter disbelief. “You are... such a hypocrite! And what was right for our people was having you memorialized in statues and in plays, I suppose.”

Loki’s face contorted sharply. “Mother was dead, I was supposedly dead, and you had swanned off to Midgard to be with your precious mortal – sorry about how that worked out, by the way. I needed to give them a distraction and a way to process their grief, and as the only other option was declaring outright _war_ on a randomly-selected realm, yes, brother, I opted to pull the troops back and patronize the arts instead. I’m sorry if that didn’t live up to your idea of kingship. Believe me, it didn’t live up to mine, either.”

Thor felt the hot burn of shame creeping up the back of his neck, as always happened when he knew he was in the wrong. But he couldn’t help smiling as well, because this was Loki at his best: telling the truth and telling lies, all so perfectly intertwined that Thor couldn’t quite grasp the threads of either. “Hela was right. You do sound like Father. What did you want to see me about?” he continued, catching Loki off-guard.

“I... oh. I was thinking, perhaps I should stay on the ship when we reach Vanaheim tomorrow. I’m still supposed to be dead, after all, and somehow, I don’t think my posthumous royal pardon will hold much weight after Sif realizes that I pardoned myself. You don’t really need me to play merchant. The Vanir will give you whatever you want!”

“After all your fine words about paying attention to what the people need, you’re really asking permission to hang back and hide?”

“You’re their king, you’re the one who needs to be front and center and visible.”

“And you’re their prince and my brother _and_ my heir,” Thor said, when Loki would have scolded him again. “Look, if they need to see me, they need to see you. And I need your help – I can’t just drop the ship down in a field, throw some rare minerals at them and say ‘Give me all your winter stores.’ They may like Prince Thor, Hero of Asgard, but I doubt they’ll think very well of Thor, Son of Odin, God of Thunder and King-in-Exile. Loki, I am asking you to stand at my side. I thought you disliked being in my shadow.”

“I do!”

“And yet when I offer you the chance of a place in the light, you recoil. Or can you only stomach the attention when it is your praises to be sung, in words that you have written?” Loki pressed his lips together tightly, and Thor knew he had him. “We cannot always write our own stories the way we wish, brother.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You can’t write at all.”

“I can’t do this without you, you know.” Thor smiled at his brother’s obvious discomfort, and reached out and gripped his shoulder. “We were both born to be kings, you and me. It’s right that we should be seen to rule together, at least some of the time.”

“...You know, we only have Odin’s word that I was even Laufey’s heir at all. I could have been a bastard as well as a runt.”

“You were able to wield the Casket of Ancient Winters. To horrible purpose, it’s true, but only the rightful heir of the throne of Jotunheim could safely control such a terrible power. You have so much anger over your heritage, Loki. Isn’t what you’ve got enough, without needing to wonder if you were a king’s byblow, as well?”

Loki pressed his lips together and nodded. “Sometimes, you remind me so much of Mother.” Then, before Thor could follow up on that, “I am... actually sorry about Jane Foster, you know.”

“Loki, don’t...”

“I am! I liked her! Despite her deficiencies of longevity. She had a brain that could run circles around you, and she clearly wasn’t afraid of anything. So... what was it? The Avengers? The Aether? Your devastatingly clever and far better-looking younger brother?”

“...I couldn’t give her what she truly wanted.”

“Which was? Not a god, clearly.”

“No, not a god.” Thor smiled, and it was a bittersweet thing. “The stars.”

Loki watched him walk back towards the bridge. “Well, that’s ironic.”

* * *

That evening, the four of them went over the plans for the following day. How they would announce their arrival to the Vanir, where they would put the ship down, all the logistics. And it was very late before they finally drew their conference to a close.

Valkyrie had spent most of the meeting listening, but at the end, she spoke up. “There’s just one other thing.”

The three men turned to her respectfully.

She took a deep, silent breath to steady herself. “I don’t want the Vanir to know that I’m the last of the Valkyrior.”

“I can understand that,” said Loki, with some feeling. “I promise, I won’t breathe a word of it.”

“You had best be careful of my brother’s promises,” Thor advised, grinning broadly, though his face was grave. “What he does not breathe, he may well sing.”

“You’ll be the one singing,” Loki retorted, “when you find scorpions in your bed tonight.”

Thor punched him fondly. “You’ve already been of great help in inspiring our people,” he said to Valkyrie. “And without anyone truly knowing of your past. You could be an inspiration to the Vanir as well, simply by stepping out of the shadows.”

“The shadows and I are old friends, your majesty. We understand each other.” Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Loki smile at that. “And you _know_ me. You know who I am, what my story is... I’m no one’s symbol of inspiration.

“The remaining Aesir already know of your presence at the battle, if nothing else,” Heimdall said, “and will not hold their tongues once they are among friendly ears.”

“Just because they think they saw a Valkyrie at the final battle doesn’t mean that same warrior is on the ship with them now,” she said stubbornly, refusing to be swayed. “Especially since I haven’t worn the armor since we fled Asgard. Let me be a rumor for a little longer.”

Thor shook his head sadly. “You two, you and Loki, both trying to hide your accomplishments and your worth. You are heroes! The past is the past, and your past sins no longer matter. We must move forward.”

Valkyrie watched him and Heimdall go, and managed not to roll her eyes at her sovereign king until he was no longer in sight. “Do you think he actually believes that crap he’s spouting?”

“I think he badly wishes he could believe it.” Loki’s pale, smooth face gave off a distinct air of worry. “He’s only lumping us together because he can’t handle thinking about everything I’ve done, and he hasn’t given himself a chance to stop and grieve yet. But when he sees Sif, he’s going to break. She’s the only one of his friends left... And it will be torrential. He’s never been good at processing emotion.”

“Must be a family failing.”

He glanced down at her warily, clearly unsure if he was to take that as a jab against himself or against the family of Odin in general. “You said you don’t want the Vanir to know of your true identity. How should we call you, while we’re in Vanaheim?”

“…By my given name, I suppose. Brunnhilde Eskildottir.”

“What, you mean you weren’t proclaimed ‘Valkyrie’ by the Norns on the day of your birth?” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “I can hardly believe it.”

“Nobody’s called me Brunnhilde since the Fall.”

He fell silent, waiting for her to continue, or not, just as she chose.

“When I was on Sakkar, I was Scrapper-142. When I was with... her... she called me Hilda. And her son called me Mom. And everyone here just calls me Valkyrie, which is awful and feels like a scab being torn off every time I hear it, but at least it makes me feel _something_. Brunnhilde... It doesn’t feel like my name anymore.”

When she was done, he clasped his hands before him and looked up at the ceiling, or down the corridor, or anywhere that was not at her. “Perhaps we could call you Brun, for the time-being?”

Valkyrie nodded. “Sure, that works.”

“...Would you prefer I called you something other than ‘Valkyrie’, when we’re alone?”

She smiled and nudged him in the ribs. “I don’t mind it, coming from you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you say it like an insult, not like it’s something I should be proud of being.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she grimaced and waited for him to say something comforting, about how she _should_ still be proud of being a Valkyrie in spite of everything.

But instead, Loki nodded. “That’s why I let you call me ‘prince’.”

* * *

Valkyrie thought about that as she walked back to her quarters, alone, for the first time since they had boarded the ship. Loki had declined her offer of company, saying that he needed to sleep the whole night, for a change, if he was going to be Thor’s trading envoy tomorrow. Much to her frustration, she felt his lack as she prepared for bed.

It hadn’t started out as anything meaningful. That first night on the ship (which still did not have a name, which bothered her. Things needed names.), she had gotten just drunk enough to be painfully horny, but still sober enough to barge into his room with a set of padded cuffs she’d found stashed under her bunk from the last occupant. Barged in, thrown him down on the bed, straddled his hips and cuffed him to the conveniently-placed staples in the wall.

It could have been a problem. He was a sorcerer, a good fighter for someone so young, and just all around slippery and dangerous.

But Loki had only laughed. He’d _laughed_ , with a mouth that had somehow gone from thin and disapproving to poutily inviting in the space of a few seconds. “You could have just asked, you know. But since we’ve skipped the formalities...”

She had silenced him with a kiss that drew blood (only later learning why he tasted different) and cut his clothes off with one of his own daggers. He fixed the suit later, and the next night, turned up at _her_ quarters with a better set of cuffs and a bottle of something that was not only strong but actually tasted halfway decent.

“I enjoyed last night,” he’d said, his gaze sweeping over her with eyes the color of absinthe.

“I noticed. But if you’re trying to bribe me into something sweeter...”

“I’m not. I don’t want that.”

“Good.” She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into her room, hauling him down to her mouth, her senses flaring with the strange but now familiar taste of him. “Because you’re not getting anything else than what you got last night.”

It was all either of them wanted, a good hard fuck and the blissful numbness that followed, a chance to burn away some of their shared grief and anger in lust and sweat and bruising kisses and aching muscles. They screwed, drank, screwed again, caught their breath, and then tossed each other out to sleep in their own beds, desires sated and damages guarded and hoarded away, safe in the knowledge that it didn’t mean a damned thing.

Maybe that was where she had gotten careless. Meanings had a nasty habit of making themselves.

She tossed back a stale brandy and fell naked into her unmade bed. True to form, she hadn’t changed the sheets in a while, and they smelled like Loki, like his sweat and his semen and his minerally Jotunn blood.

The last thing Valkyrie had wanted was to get close to him, in any way. She liked that he was dangerous and shameless, because it made the sex all the more satisfying, but those weren’t _safe_ qualities. She hadn’t expected him to become a fixture of her daily life, let alone bare a piece of his soul to her, the way he had last night... or to have her back in front of Thor, the way he had that evening.

As she was falling asleep, a snippet of a conversation they’d had about a week before, in that very bed, drifted through her mind.

_“Why me?” Loki asked, in between little sipping gasps as she ran the cool flat of her dagger along his inner thighs. “Why not Thor or Heimdall, or hell, any other man on the ship? It’s not as though you lack for options. Or is it just because I let you toy with me?”_

_“Don’t act like you’re not getting exactly what you asked for, prince. First off, I’m not getting into bed with my king. That is a recipe for disaster.”_

_“Speaking from experience?”_

_He paid for that comment with a sharp little slice of her blade, which only made him laugh and his cock twitch and strain._

_“Heimdall keeps trying to get me to drink less. And no one else here knows who I am. You know about me, I don’t have to take orders from you, and you’re not trying to save me from myself.”_

_“So, because I’m the worst option, I am therefore the best option.”_

_“Cheers, your highness,” she taunted, before going down on him._

Valkyrie smirked at the memory, and slept.


	5. Ambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncomfortable truths are on the horizon, and they haven't even reached Vanaheim yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is a day late (yes, I am trying to keep to a one-chapter-a-day schedule, because I’m a masochist) but I was traveling yesterday. I’m also going to be traveling this week and inundated with family because Thanksgiving, but I’m working on a backlog of chapters so hopefully there will be no more interruptions. There are also some standalone ficlets I’ve got stashed away for the holiday, so if you’re not already subscribed to me on AO3 or [following me on Tumblr](http://http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com/), you might want to do that. :) And as always, thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

_She was falling. The Valkyrior were dying in legions around her, the battle was all but lost, and Brunnhilde was falling, as she had fallen that day and would fall forever. But instead of being swallowed up by an errant portal that would eventually deposit her on Sakaar, this time, she hit the ground, and her fall was cushioned by the corpses of those who had fallen before her._

_Struggling to breath from the force of her landing, Brunnhilde raised herself up on her palms. The body beneath her was broad and muscled and as wide as a feasting table, certainly not the body of a Valkyrie... and it was green._

_“No,” she whispered, touching the Hulk’s face with one bloody hand. “Not you too, Big Guy, come on, wake up, I need you to wake up.” She willed life into her friend, prepared to be hurled half a mile when he regained consciousness and smashed the first thing he got his hands on. But there was nothing. He was dead._

_Fighting back a scream, Brunnhilde struggled to her feet, clutching her sword and the wound in her side. Looking around, all she saw was carnage. The ground was muddy and red with blood and the sky was a churning sickly greenish-black. But there was not a Valkyrie in sight. The only slain were what remained of the population of Asgard. She stepped over Heimdall’s body, the great Bifrost sword lying snapped in half beside him, dark daggers spearing every part of him. This was Hela’s doing, she knew, without conscious thought._

_Raising her eyes from the dead, Brunnhilde’s blood froze in her veins. Standing at the top of a ridge, overlooking the charnel scene and holding the limp, broken body of Thor by the neck, was Loki, caped in green and helmed in black, laughing. He threw the body of his brother and king at her, and they fell._

* * *

 

Valkyrie bolted upright in bed, gasping in terror. Her eyes strained in the darkness of her room and her fingers gripped tightly the hilts of the daggers which were never far from her hands, even in sleep.

“Lights,” she said, her voice shaking and hoarse. The room’s ambient lighting hummed to life, softly sensual. It made the sudden wave of nausea worse, and she bolted to the bathroom to vomit up what little there was in her stomach.

When the violent retching passed, she slumped to the floor, resting her sweating back against the cool tiles. After a moment, she wiped her mouth and looked for blood, but there was none. Only a dream.

The smell of blood, fresh blood, hot and smelling like fire and iron in the back of the throat, was something you never forgot. Couple it with the screams of dying horses (even flying horses screamed when they were shot out of the sky) and the sickening wet thud of black blades entering flesh, and it was enough of a nightmare to drive even the most hardened warrior mad.

The last of the Valkyries had been mad for a thousand years. But she’d thought she had left the dreams behind.

* * *

She had meant to avoid the prince for as long as possible that day, at least until she could have a drink and some breakfast and get her head back on straight, but she ran into him almost immediately as she emerged from her quarters.

“Good, I was coming to find you,” said Loki without preamble. “Thor wants us on the bridge.”

“Is there trouble?”

“Not yet.” Though something about Loki’s smirk told her that there probably would be.

“Right. When is there not, when you’re around?” Valkyrie pinched the bridge of her nose, hard, trying to stop the throbbing behind her eyes. “I should check on the Hulk... Banner. Whatever he currently is, I should check on him.”

“I looked in on him already. He’s still sleeping, but he seems fine.”

Valkyrie eyed him blearily, trying to figure out if he would have been quite _that_ altruistic. “Can I at least grab some toast first?”

“Afraid not.” He jerked his head at the lift that would take them to the main deck. “We’re about to arrive in Vanaheim’s ambit, and Heimdall’s going to try and contact Lady Sif.”

“...And why do I need to be there? Heimdall’s abilities aren’t new to me, little boy.”

“I didn’t ask. I’ve learned not to question Thor’s decisions. Now I just wait until they blow up in his face so I can laugh at him.” Loki glanced down at her as the lift ascended. “You should cover that.”

For a split second, Valkyrie had no idea what he was talking about. Then her hand went reflexively to the tattoo on her wrist, gripping it almost savagely.

“I can cover it up right now, if you like. Make it invisible, put some sleeves on those scrapper clothes—”

“It’s fine. I forgot to put on my bracers when I woke up, is all.”

“Remember to put them on before we get down there. The last thing you want to invite is the trauma of being questioned and idolized.”

She managed, at the very last second, not to kick his legs out from beneath him and bury the tip of her dagger in his eye. The king wouldn’t appreciate his brother being stabbed before breakfast, and she understood Loki well enough now to realize he hadn’t meant anything by it.

And that was the problem.

The dreams had come back shortly before her departure from Sakaar, after he had ripped through her mind and dredged up all the old sludge of the battle. She had buried them so far under alcohol and apathy, and he had brought it all back with one smack of his palm. And if he knew, he had not given one single sign that he gave a damn. If he knew.

But at the thought of telling him, Valkyrie’s stomach lurched and her heart shied away from the idea like a skittish horse.

The lift opened and disgorged them onto the ship’s bridge-slash-throne room, where Thor and Heimdall were already waiting. “Right,” said Valkyrie, “whatever we’re doing, let’s do this, I’m hungry.”

Thor gestured for her to join him on the side of the wide viewing pane. Heimdall was standing in the center, gazing out at what lay before them. When Valkyrie caught sight of it, her breath snagged in her chest. “Now that’s something I never thought I’d see again...”

The ship hovered, tremulously, on the edge of Vanaheim’s space. Like Asgard, it was less of a planet than it was a flat plane, a physical manifestation of old Midgardian superstitions about ‘flat Earth’ and ships accidentally sailing off the edge of the world. Alone among the eight realms that fell under Asgard’s purview, Vanaheim had been a willing ally from the very earliest days. There were ancient legends of old wars, but those preceded Odin and were largely lost to time. “I remember it as a forested place... farms, small settlements... the people warm and welcoming...”

Heimdall’s smile was slight. “It has changed little, in that respect. But because of that nature, it has been besieged many times in recent years. And after we leave this realm, they will be on their own.”

Valkyrie glanced at the king. Thor looked... tired, she decided. Tired, but determined, as he had been for the past weeks. That had not changed. But looking closer, she saw the smallest jump of muscles in his neck and jaw. Loki had spoken truly. He was tense unto breaking.

Meanwhile, Loki had stripped off the gauntlets that normally covers his forearms and the backs of his hands, and had moved to stand before Heimdall.

“The Vanir have no technology that this ship’s communications system can reach,” Thor said, his great arms folded across his chest. “And while Heimdall’s ability to see across all realms is unchanged, his ability to contact others was linked to the Bifrost. Without it, he needs another source of power.”

“Wait... you mean Loki?”

“That would be correct,” Loki said shortly, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles in preparation. “What little power I have left, that is. I’ve been running close to empty for some time now. As you’ve all so astutely deduced.” The smile he threw them was sour. “I have enough energy to spare to give Heimdall the boost that the Bifrost once provided, but after this I am going to be utterly drained of seidr for the time-being. So you’ll all have to find your entertainment elsewhere.”

Valkyrie swallowed and leaned in. “Has he ever done this before?” she murmured to Thor.

“I’ve seen him do energy transfers in the past, but never when he was so low on power himself.” Thor grinned as he spoke under his breath. “Once, in Ljosalfheim, he was able to channel a great burst of seidr into a magical sword that was so mighty, it split a mountain in half.”

“Why, brother, I’m touched! I had no idea you remembered. Or cared.”

“Of course I remember – you saved all our lives that day!”

“As it’s the first time in three centuries you’ve seen fit to mention it, that is news to me.” Loki took a deep breath and let it out in a slow, controlled stream of air. “Watcher, if you are ready?”

Heimdall nodded, and Loki stepped up onto the platform to face him. “I will only be the conduit for the energy,” he said. “The message will come from you. If you make contact with Sif, I will see and hear what you do, but she will see and hear only you.”

“I understand.” Heimdall’s golden eyes danced with a sudden humor. “So I shouldn’t send her your love?”

“Please don’t, for mercy’s sake.” Loki glanced at the others. “Whatever happens, do not interfere. These kinds of mental links mustn’t be broken in mid-stream.”

Valkyrie took a deep breath of her own. Thor said nothing, but she felt his tension double.

Loki laid his hands alongside of Heimdall’s face. “Trust me,” he murmured, with a little tilt to his lips that showed he understood the irony of his words.

His eyes fell closed, but Heimdall’s remained open, staring at Loki but not seeing him. Slowly, as their breathing synchronized, a glow began to emanate from Loki's hands, pale green tinged with gold, and a hint of blue bleeding through. That, more than anything, spoke of how weary he was, if he was allowing even that fragment of his true heritage to show.

The glow crept round them slowly, flowing always from Loki’s hands into Heimdall’s eyes.

At last, when Heimdall was completely enveloped, he spoke. “Lady Sif... hear me.”

* * *

The forests of Vanaheim were lush with game in the late autumn, and with nothing better to do until she was recalled home, Sif filled her days with combat training and with stocking the larder of her hosts. The Vanir ruling council was as gracious as ever, but there were rumblings in the capital of ill winds across the realms, and Sif had thought it prudent to remove herself to Hogun’s home, where his wife and extended family had made her welcome. Fresh meat for the evening meal and salt meat for the winter were the least she could do in return for their hospitality.

Most days she hunted on horseback, but today she felt so unsettled that her horse refused to carry her, so she stalked on foot, with her sword and shield on her back and a strung bow in her hand. But her feet fell with uncharacteristic heaviness and spooked the game before she could sight it.

“Focus,” she muttered, gritting her teeth. “If aught was the matter at home, you would have heard by now.”

And yet, it had been two years since her last trip to Midgard, to assist the Son of Coul with the Kree traveler, and since then, the All-father had insisted that she remain in Vanaheim, to report on their doings. Sif wondered if Odin doubted her capacity, after the Kree had temporarily taken her memories. Or perhaps he was keeping her from Earth so that she would not run the risk of seeing Thor and telling him of Coulson’s survival... or more probably, so that she would not see Thor and Jane Foster together.

_The old man is grown soft in his grief... I would not come between Thor and his mortal, were I given every chance. He has made his choice._

So she stayed, and hunted, and sent back her reports to Heimdall, and wondered where the Warriors Three were and what adventures they were getting up to without her. But now she could not contact Heimdall at all, or that man Skurge who was somehow his new deputy, and the Bifrost would not open for her. She was, effectively, marooned, without aid or information.

Small wonder that she could not keep her mind on her hunting.

Suddenly an invisible force slammed into her, sending Sif to her knees.

“Lady Sif... hear me.”

She looked up and was astonished. There was Heimdall, standing before her, not in his golden armor of office, but in dark-colored fighting leathers and with hair in long ropes down his back. “Heimdall? What is this?” She struggled to regain her feet, but the force of his presence was too strong. She had never felt anything like it... “Why are you contacting me in this way?”

“Because it is the only way left to me. We are coming to Vanaheim. Warn the council of elders.”

“‘We’?”

“Asgard. The ship is on approach.”

“How is this possible? What has happened to Asgard? Is the king well?”

“Thor is king.”

He did not elaborate further, but Sif understood, absorbing the blow as a warrior must and tucking it away for a more appropriate time. “I will inform the council. Where will the ship land?”

“In the Field of Bones, outside of Hogun’s village, in three hours.”

Sif nodded at the image. The Field of Bones was an old battlefield that was well-known to herself and her fighting companions. “I understand. We will await your arrival...”

* * *

When the contact was broken, Heimdall grimaced and staggered back, rubbed his temples from the force of the concentration, but Loki groaned and fell to one knee, clutching his chest. “I think...” Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he pitched forward.

Valkyrie darted in and caught him as he slumped, laying him out on the fancy carpet, checking his pulse and lifting his eyelids “He’s out cold.”

“Damn,” Thor muttered. “He said he was worn out, but I’ve never seen him this bad. Can you look after him?”

She looked up in astonishment. “Me? Why...?”

“Because that’s why he wanted you here? He told me—”

“He didn’t tell me. Didn’t tell me a damned thing.” Valkyrie stared at Loki’s unconscious body for a moment, and then got up and walked off the bridge.

Thor let out a huff. “Then I guess I’ll take him.”


	6. Warp and Weft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In trying to care for his brother, Thor uncovers the price Loki is paying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

In all the long centuries of traveling the Nine Realms and fighting alongside one another, Thor had never seen his brother so weakened before. Always before when he touched Loki, the mystical energies would radiate from his body like a corona, invisible but palpable. As he had grown more skilled, he had learned to mask those energies from those with Sight and take them back into himself, allowing him to move silently and swiftly, not merely through air, but through the fabric of space. The result had been a man with very little presence, except when he wished it. He had made himself into the shadow he so despised, in exchange for the freedom to move along the unseen paths, to cast effortless illusions, to crack the protective skins of people’s minds to reveal their secrets. 

But at a touch, Thor could still normally feel that energy, humming just beneath Loki’s skin, as lightning crackled in Thor’s veins. 

Now? There was nothing. Only Loki’s shallow breathing and his still-Aesir skin to tell Thor that he was alive at all. 

Thor carried Loki to his own quarters and laid him down on the bed. His brother’s body was limp and felt strangely feverish, as the only energy he was radiating right now was heat. He bent to work loosening Loki’s leather tunic, to try and make him more comfortable while he rested, pondering what would be best to say when Loki eventually woke up in his brother’s bed. It was not the first time Thor had ever had to put Loki to bed, invariably because of some injury or other incurred in battle, and Loki _never_ appreciated it. 

Finally the Sakaaran garment gave way and Thor laid the panels back. He had intended to leave Loki thus and return to the bridge to let him sleep, but his eye was arrested at the sight that met him: a brutal oval-shaped scar beneath the center of Loki’s breastbone, sunken and glowering and a strange sickly purple color. Thor had seen that color only once before: on one of the Frost Giants he had fought on that ill-fated excursion into Jotunheim. And indeed Loki’s form was beginning to shimmer and collapse, as more and more marked blue flesh crept along his body. It was the first time Thor had seen his brother’s true form, but he was in no mind to be enthralled. 

The wound seemed strangely fresh, and for a moment, Thor wondered if Loki had been more badly injured during the battle against Hela and her undead army than any of them had realized. Then a wave of revulsion and grief passed over him. He knew what this wound was. 

_“Oh, you fool, you didn’t listen!”_

_His baby brother shook uncontrollably in his arms. “I’m a fool... I’m a fool...”_

_“Stay with me.”_

_“I’m sorry... I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”_

_“Ssh... It’s all right. I’ll tell Father what you did here today.”_

_The shaking stopped, leaving only an eerie, determined calm in the eyes that gazed up at him, unseeing. “I didn’t do it for him.”_

Loki might have made light of the moment to himself, in his ridiculous tragical plays. But Thor still dreamed of his brother dying in his arms, the smell of his blood and the horrible... emptiness of Loki’s body. It had been worse than the Bifrost. And since finding Loki alive and as mischievous as ever, Thor had consoled himself with the frustration and the fraternal pride of having been duped by the trickster yet again. 

But it had been no trick. The wound was real. And, as Thor sat him up and peeled away the rest of the tunic, the exit wound looked even worse, having missed the spine by only a hairsbreadth. The Kursed warrior had not only stabbed Loki, but he had ripped the blade back out as well. And if this was what the scars outside looked like, what had it done to Loki’s insides? 

He recalled all the times in the past when he had pinned Loki to the ground with Mjolnir, in jest and in earnest, and Loki’s only complaint had been annoyance. But when Thor had revealed him to the court, and pushed him back into his seat with the hammer against his chest, Loki had cried out in pain.

He tossed the jacket aside and laid Loki gently down on the blanket. “Oh, little brother,” Thor murmured, feeling tears prickling his eye and stinging beneath his eye patch. He touched the wound on Loki’s chest very lightly and gasped at what he felt. He might have nothing of Loki’s finely-tuned sensitivity to magic, but he remembered enough of the rudiments of seidrcraft that he had learned at their mother’s knee, because Loki’s magic was Frigga’s magic, and he could feel the broken warp and weft of his brother’s web of power. 

The death had not been permanent, if death there had been, but the blow from the Kursed blade was no trick. This wound, deep and unhealing, was why Loki’s powers were failing him. 

He placed a hand over the wound in his brother’s chest and closed his eyes. What Thor lacked in sensitivity, he could at least make up for in raw strength. He gathered some of his own energies, the moderate ones he could muster, and passed them to Loki. 

Loki’s eyes shot open, ruby-red and astonished. He gasped once, loud and sharp, and half lifted his back from the bed before thudding down on the mattress once more. “What... the hell...” He swallowed and turned his head to look hazily at his brother. “Did you just try to electrocute me?”

“No... well, not exactly.”

“...Thank you? For not killing me?”

Thor grinned a bit. “I think you’re doing that well enough on your own.”

Loki grimaced and tried to sit up. He glanced down at his naked torso and saw that his Aesir illusion had given way completely. “Damn. Sorry, I...” He tensed, trying to will the shift back, but without success. “Can I have a blanket or something? There’s no reason for either of us to see this.”

“You’re too warm as it is. It’s fine, Loki. It is who you are. We’ve all ignored it for too long.”

“I’d prefer to continue ignoring it.” He looked around Thor’s quarters with raised eyebrows. “Ugh... nice of you to take the fanciest room and leave the rest of us with broom closets.”

“Oh, stop whining, you and the others got first choice.”

“You think I wouldn’t have claimed a suite with a bed the size of a banquet table if I’d found it? I just collapsed in the first available chamber.” Loki groaned, tried again to sit upright, and again failed. “So. Why exactly am I in your bed and half-naked? And this had better be a _very_ good explanation.”

“You collapsed on the bridge.”

“...Ah.” 

“If I’d known your powers had grown that frail, I would have found another way to reach Sif. You need not have taken such a risk.”

“Heimdall couldn’t make the connection on his own, and we needed to contact Sif.”

“You could have _died_.”

“Don’t be maudlin. I wasn’t in the least danger.”

“How would you know?” Thor scoffed. 

“I’ve been dead before, Thor. I crossed paths with the goddess of death long before you did. I know what it feels like. I’m not in any danger of dying.” _Not yet, at least,_ Loki said to himself, gingerly sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Then he snatched the thought back before it could appear on his face. “But after four years of pretending to be Odin and isolating myself from all manner of pleasant company, I’ve had to resort to... a more basic form of energy exchange, in order to recharge my magic.”

“Basic? What... oh. Oh, brother, no.”

“What? I’ve done it before.”

“With _permission_! Loki, if Valkyrie finds out you’ve been using her for sex—” 

“I’m sorry, who’s been using who? She’s the one who broke into my room and hobbled me like a colt so she could ride me in peace.” 

“...Oh, no, that’s... not... damn it, it’s in my brain now.” 

Loki bit his lip and grinned. “I know, gorgeous mental picture, isn’t it?” Thor looked ready to claw out his remaining eye. “Stop worrying. The sex has been entirely mutual – and mutually satisfying, I might add. It’s true, I’ve been taking and using the excess energy that sexual activities throw off. It would just go to waste, otherwise!” He stood up carefully, testing his balance, and then shifted back to his Asgardian appearance. “But I’m not using the Valkyrie, not in the sense you mean. I’m not a _vampire_ , Thor.”

“They why did you want her on the bridge today?” Thor demanded. “You told me you needed her to be there, but you didn’t tell her that. So what else am I supposed to think?”

He expected Loki to become defensive, to offer some semi-plausible excuse. Instead, Loki bent down and snatched his tunic from the floor, but rather than putting it on, he began to worry and twist the leather with his hands. His eyes went from floor to ceiling to wall before finally making their way to Thor.

He saw the expression in his little brother’s eyes, and his heart broke. “Loki. Tell me.”

“I just wanted her there. She’s not... we’re not _friends_ , she and I. But I trust her not to let me fall.”

“She did catch you, when you were done.”

“And then she left.” Loki’s lips twisted into a smile that mocked only himself. “Break my fall and then leave without a word. That seems to be my lot with women.” He looked down at the leather garment and then, with some difficulty, put it on, shrugging off Thor’s silent offer of assistance. “It could always be worse: I could be working my way through what’s left of your subjects, taking a bit here and a bit there and probably leaving a trail of very attractive little bastards along the way. Be thankful for small mercies.”

He turned away from Thor, to look in the mirror and straighten his clothes and smooth his hair. “I’ll be better once we’re on land. There are natural energies on Vanaheim that I can call upon to restore myself, in a way I couldn’t when I was trying to hold an illusion awake and asleep.”

“There are healers on Vanaheim as well,” Thor said quietly. “You should seek them out. Or ask Banner.”

“I trust Banner not to murder me, for the moment, but not enough to let him put his hands on me. He’ll just take samples back to Fury.” His movements were very clean and precise, but there was a tremor to his hands made Thor’s heart clench with grief. “I’m _not_ dying,” Loki repeated, more peevishly this time. “I am _drained_. It’s a risk I was prepared to take, and now I’m paying the price. Or have you forgotten that magic comes at a price to the user?”

“I didn’t forget, I just... you never seemed to be bound to that law.”

“I’m as bound to it as any other sorcerer, and I pay the same price. But I make it look easy. I’ve learned how to skirt it without going too close to the edge. This time... was a bit too close. Fear not, brother, I won’t be doing it again. Frankly, I’m tired of dying, or nearly dying, or putting myself in harm’s way to save your thick hide. I’m in no hurry to see our dear sister again. Although... no, never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s not important.”

“Loki.”

He stared at his reflection for a few seconds, brushing non-existent dust from his sleeves. “When I was near death, on Svartalfheim... I saw Mother. And sometimes, when the pain gets unbearable... I see her again. I feel her hand on my face, I hear her voice and I see her smile... and the pain is almost worth it, for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Thorki shippers, there is an alternate smutty version of this chapter [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12785502). As far as I’m concerned, it’s super non-canonical for this story, but ymmv and I’m cool with that.


	7. Moral Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valkyrie is not having the best of days. Bruce wakes up. Loki gets punched (he deserves it).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter today, because I'm traveling. And also possibly sick. Maddeningly long chapters will resume when I have higher brain function back.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

There wasn’t much in the way of actual training equipment in the gym. Being Sakaaran, it was really more of a sex dungeon. But there were cords and pulleys for resistance training, and plenty of mats for floor exercises. Valkyrie was trying to lose herself in push-ups when Heimdall arrived. “Come to make sure I haven’t drunk myself into a coma?”

“Water,” said Heimdall briefly, tossing her a bottle.

She caught it and continued during her push-ups one-handed. “You used to offer me brandy.”

“When I had brandy to share,” he agreed. He sat down on a padded bench. “There’s been no time to say it, but—”

“Not now, Heimdall. I can’t talk about... not now.” She looked up into a set of reproachful golden eyes.

“It’s good to see you again, Brunnhilde.”

The muscles in her throat contracted sharply. “That’s not my name anymore. Hasn’t been for... well, it’s just not. Brun will do, at least when we land.” She leaped lightly to her feet and popped the cap off the water bottle, drinking thirstily, not wanting to continue this line of conversation.

Heimdall just watched her. It was what he did, after all. “The Vanir are preparing for our arrival. Lady Sif had to do some impression talking to convince the council of elders that we’re not an invading force.”

“Well, I guess that’s debatable, isn’t it...” She swallowed another gulp of water and wiped her mouth on the back of her arm. The movement meant that her tattoo, the sign of her order, passed before Heimdall. He looked at it for a moment and then turned away. “I’m... there was no one else. No other survivors.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I saw. But when you appeared on the Bifrost, I allowed myself to hope. I thought perhaps that Groa...”

Valkyrie felt as though she’d been punched in the chest. She had never forgotten the names of her slain companions – could never forget them – but she had worked so hard not to think about them that hearing one of their names after so long, and from the lips of a loved one... it was too much. It was too damned much.

“I have to go check on Dr. Banner... Bruce... Hulk... whatever. Thanks for the water.” And she all but ran from the gym, down the corridor and down the utility stairs to the habitation decks, not pausing until she reached Bruce’s room.

The urge to punch down the door was strong, but if she broke it, she’d have to fix it. Or convince Korg to fix it. He was proving to be a very handy mechanic and happy to be of help, so long as you didn’t mind a bit of well-meaning revolutionary proselytizing. But since she wasn’t in any sort of mood for that right now...

She tapped the little intercom panel beside the door. There was a fumbling from inside the room as Banner tried to figure out how to answer it. Then she heard a very muffled “Sorry!” from behind the door. “Sorry, I can’t... uh... come in?” Obediently, the door slid open, revealing a very disheveled Bruce Banner wrapped in a blanket. “Hi!”

“Hi,” said Valkyrie, working to hide her grin. “Sleep well?”

“Uh... yeah, yeah, I think so. Where are we?”

“On a spaceship.”

“Another one? Are we heading to Earth?”

“That’s the plan, at least eventually. Right now, we’re about to pay a visit to Vanaheim. One of the other Nine Realms,” she clarified.

“Ohhh...”

“We need supplies. Lots of hungry people on board.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “How many?”

“About five thousand altogether. Four hundred or so kids.”

“Five thousand people out of a whole planet... Jesus Christ.” Valkyrie didn’t understand the reference, but she gathered from his tone of voice that it was something serious. “D’you think we could find me some pants or something? I’m a medical doctor as well as a bunch of other stuff, and I’d like to be able to help, if I can.”

Battered as she felt, Valkyrie couldn’t help smiling at his earnestness. “I don’t know how much a Midgardian doctor could do. Asgardians are tough. But they’d probably welcome a friendly face, especially the kids.” She pointed to a closet built into the wall. “There’s some stuff in there from the last crew that we found. A not-gaudy Sakaaran uniform, boots, underclothes. It should all fit you.”

Bruce shuffled awkwardly over to the closet, his blanket dragging. The uniform he pulled out was mostly black, but with slashes of blue and purple to lighten the effect. “Do, uh... d’you mind?”

Still working hard to hide her smirk, Valkyrie politely turned her back so that he could struggle into the clothes in peace. “Finished?”

“Yeah, yeah...” She turned around and nodded approvingly. He cut a nice figure, especially with the combat-style boots and the jacket. “It’s just kinda... snug.”

“Most Sakaaran clothing is,” Valkyrie said, gesturing to her scrapper gear. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks, but if the Other Guy comes back, it’s not gonna be pretty. We’re talkin’, like... exploding pants.” Bruce looked up from fiddling with his belt. “Speaking of, how did you get me back? I know you all did something.”

“...Right. Yes.” She dug the heels of her hands against her eyes for a second or two. “We’ve got another couple of hours or so before we descend. So... why don’t you sit down and I’ll explain things.”

* * *

Loki would have preferred to return to his own room, after his little heart-to-heart with Thor, but between the emotional drain and the impromptu electroshock therapy, a nap had been more to his liking, and he’d fallen asleep as soon as he was sure Thor had left, waking only as the ship’s intercom began to gentle chime its impending descent.

He got up, stretched, smoothed his hair, and tried not to think too much about the literal hole in his chest or the figurative one in his heart. He hadn’t intended to tell Thor about his visions of Mother. They were _his_ , damn it. They were all he had left of her, and childish as it was... he didn’t want to share. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

He stepped into the corridor at the same moment that the Valkyrie emerged from the beast’s quarters, Dr. Banner trailing behind her.

As soon as she caught sight of Loki, her expression went dark, and she strode towards him with an unmistakable intent. He braced himself. “Valkyrie, I—”

She socked him in the jaw, knocking him off his feet and sending him flying backwards into the bulkhead.

“ _Ow._ ”

“You deserved that.”

“I’ll... take your word for it.”

“Next time you want moral support, prince, just fucking ask, okay?”

“...Okay.” He rubbed his jaw tenderly. “Er... Dr. Banner.”

Bruce hung back a pace or two. “Loki. She,” he gestured, “tells me I owe you a favor. You created some kind of serum to keep the Hulk in check.”

“I did, yes. It seemed the safest option, as we’re all stuck together in this floating barroom for the next year or so.” He watched the doctor warily. “You can repay me by not thrashing me about like a dead cat.”

“Yeah, well... don’t try to take over anymore planets, and I’ll think about it.” Bruce folded his arms across his chest, or rather, tried to, as he was still getting used to the tight clothing. “So, what’s the deal with you two?”

“Deal? There’s – no deal,” said Valkyrie hurriedly.

“Nothing at all,” Loki agreed. “Just, ah...”

“Look, we’re all stuck on this ship together and we have to make the best of it.”

“...Right.” Bruce gave them a doubtful once-over and then shrugged. “I guess as long as I don’t have to hear anything, it’s none of my business. So, which way to the bridge?”


	8. The Lady of Vanaheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asgardian refugees finally reach Vanaheim, where they are greeted by the king's representative... and a very confused and pissed-off Lady Sif.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this most festive of U.S. Thursdays, find some [Native American charities](https://www.diversitybestpractices.com/news-articles/top-native-american-organizations-to-know) to support, [annoy your reps about net neutrality](https://www.battleforthenet.com/), and eat some delicious turkey (or tofurkey, whatever floats yer boat). 
> 
> I had to watch “Agents of SHIELD” to write Sif correctly. I hope you appreciate what I do for you. Also, for the purposes of this fic, Freya will be played by Michelle Yeoh, because I'm still bitter about _Star Trek: Discovery_.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Descending to a realm that was basically a flat plain was somewhat different from orbital descent to a globe, as Valkyrie had to explain to all of them. It was closer to a heavier-than-air flight craft (“Like an airplane?” “I don’t know what that is, Bruce, but sure.”) coming onto a runway, but through layers of atmosphere.

“Shouldn’t you boys already know this?” she said, leveling a look at the royal brothers. “I mean, according to the stories down below, you were the best-traveled people in Asgard.”

Thor and Loki glanced at each other, then at Heimdall. “The princes were accustomed to traveling by Bifrost,” the watcher said, his tone carefully neutral and respectful but still managing to convey a remarkable amount of frustration. “And disdained other modes of travel.”

“At least I bothered to learn how to pilot,” Loki muttered.

“Hey, I can fly a spaceship perfectly. I’ve been flying this tub for almost three weeks.”

“Once you’re in _space_ , maybe. Remind me again who took the head off the statue of King Bor?”

“Remind _me_ again who I was breaking out of prison at the time—”

“Hey! Kids!” Bruce yelled, making a strange hand gesture, with his flat palm balanced on his upright fingers, in almost a T-shape. “The ship? Have to not-crash?”

“It’s on automatic,” said Heimdall.

Bruce let out an explosive sigh of relief. “Oh thank god. These two are worse than teenagers.”

* * *

The people of the village of Volkang gathered in trepidation and uncertainty for the arrival of the ship that the Asgardian assured them was coming.

Sif did her utmost to project an air of confidence, but inside, she was as doubtful as any. Heimdall’s contact with her had been strange and overpowering, not as she had been accustomed to, and his message even stranger. Thor was king? Asgard was coming? None of it made sense.

The Vanir were particularly concerned with the idea that all of Asgard was descending upon them, so much so that the council of elders had sent the king’s daughter Freya, known simply as The Lady of Vanaheim, as their representative, to witness the descent and meet with whoever was onboard. She was older than Sif, poised and confident, with dark hair and keen eyes. She said little and saw much, and although slight of build, made Sif feel uncomfortably small.

“They will arrive soon,” she said, more for the chance to hear a voice than for any reassurance she might bring.

Freya did not take her eyes from the growing dark spot in the sky. “There have been strange rumblings in the space between realms,” she said, in the cool noncommittal voice of a seasoned councilor, “stories told between the stars, that a great calamity has befallen your realm, Lady Sif.”

“If it were so, I would have been recalled,” Sif replied, clinging stubbornly to hope.

“Or there is no one left to recall you,” Freya replied calmly. “I have been a shieldmaiden in my youth. A warrior cannot trust to hope forever. Eventually, she must accept truth.”

“And what ‘truth’ must I accept, councilor?”

Freya’s reply was drowned out by the final descent of a massive rectangular craft, gray and ugly and several miles long. Sif understood now why Heimdall had instructed them to set aside the Field of Bones – any other space would have been obliterated under the vast scope of such a ship.

They reined their surprised horses in while the Vanir guards held back the local villagers and the people from the surrounding farms and towns who had caught wind of the arrival. And then, together, Sif and Freya rode forward under the banners of their houses, along with Skanda, the headwoman of the village, to greet the new arrivals. Sif’s blade was at her back, and Skanda carried her spear of office, but Freya appeared unarmed and unconcerned at the prospect of an attack on her person.

“My soldiers have orders,” she told Sif before the ship opened, “that if any attempt is made upon the people, then Asgardians or not, they will retaliate.”

“My people have no quarrel with the Vanir,” Sif said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Asgard has long protected your world and called you friend.”

“Long, yes. But not forever.”

The ship let out a long hiss of air and off-gas, and the greeting party and all the assembled warriors and common folk tensed, holding their collective breath. Some gasped in awe, others in fear. Sif reminded herself that most of those present had never been off-world, never traveled as she had, and that Vanaheim was a far more rustic place than Asgard and had no place for such advanced technology... not that the unwieldy ship could be called ‘advanced’. Midgardians seemed to care little about the aesthetics of their vehicles, and yet even in their realm, Sif had seen more graceful crafts.

A rumble went through the ship, unnerving the horses again. “Something is happening,” Skanda said, gripping her spear.

“The exit ramp opens,” said Sif, shifting her reins to one hand so that she could risk her sword at a moment’s notice.

Freya said nothing. She only watched, as the ramp slowly lowered to the ground, clouds of steam and water vapor billowing into the air. Slowly, a single figure emerged from the mist: a tall, dark man with ropes of hair down to his waist, clad in wine-colored fighting leathers, with an immense sword strapped to his back.

It was the hilt of the sword that Sif recognized first, even before the face. “Heimdall!”

He raised a hand in acknowledgment, but knew his place and bowed first to Councilor Freya. “Lady of Vanaheim,” he greeted. “I am the Gatekeeper of Asgard.”

“This is a strange place for you, Gatekeeper,” Freya said, dismounting her horse and motioning for Sif and Skanda to do the same. “And a strange way to arrive.”

“It has been a strange few weeks,” Heimdall admitted. “But that is not for me to tell. My king requests the honor of stepping into your realm.”

Freya’s eyebrows lifted in polite surprise at his phrasing. “And which king might that be?”

“The Allfather feasts in Valhalla,” he said, confirming the part of his message which Sif had most prayed she had misunderstood. “His son rules in his stead.”

And then Thor emerged from the ship, and her heart leaped into her throat at the sight of him. He was dressed in unfamiliar armor, his hair was shorn, and one eye was covered with a gold-veined black patch. Worst of all, his once-carefree face bore an expression of such weariness that Sif felt tears come into her eyes.

She hung back a pace or two while Thor made his addresses to Councilor Freya and Headwoman Skanda, which Sif listened to with only half an ear. If Heimdall’s appearance had surprised her, Thor looked as though he had been through absolute hell. And the fact that Heimdall was the one accompanying him, rather than one or all of the Warriors Three, gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was unprepared to examine.

Then Thor turned to her and embraced her, not as a king to a subject or a comrade-in-arms, but as one beloved friend to another, “Thank all the ancestors in Valhalla,” he murmured into her hair, his voice rough with unshed tears. “I feared I would never see you again.”

“Thor, I – forgive me.” She extricated herself from his arms and made the appropriate bow and salute. “My king—”

“No, none of that, Sif,” he correctly firmly. “To you, I’d prefer to remain Thor.”

“As you wish.” Having been given permission to be as familiar as before, she reached up and touched his face. “Your hair, your _eye_ —what _happened_ to you?!”

“Oh, that.” He actually looked relieved by her question, which seemed ridiculous. “It got shaved off for gladiatorial combat.”

“...Your eye?”

“N-no, my hair. No, I didn’t get my eye shaved off, that would be weird. No, my eye got struck out.”

“In the gladiatorial combat.”

“Not exactly,” Thor hedged. “Though it could’ve, the thing I was fighting could have ripped my head off and popped it like a grape. He’s over there.”

Sif looked where he pointed and frowned. “The Kronan?”

“Hmm? Nah, Korg’s just a big puppy made of rocks. No, the little dark-haired guy.”

“...You are jesting, surely...”

“I’m not! Hey, Banner! Banner, c’mere. Lady Sif, this is Dr. Bruce Banner, of Midgard. Banner, this is Lady Sif of Asgard, one of the finest warriors I've ever had the honor of fighting beside.”

“Oh, hi. Nice to meet you. Thor, he talks about you all the time.”

“And you’re a gladiator?”

“Nah, I’m a physicist. I hate fighting.”

“Trust me, he’s tougher than he looks. Loki’s terrified of him.”

“...Loki? _Is_ terrified of him? He’s alive?” Sif drew her sword. _“Where is he?”_

‘He’ was, at that exact moment, emerging from the ship, caped and helmed and very much alive and with the hint of his old cocky grin playing about his lips. And then he saw Sif, and went white. "Oh shit."

She saw _red_.

With a snarl, she all but flew up the ramp of the ship, and had the trickster by the collar within two seconds. “You. Utter. Bastard.”

Loki squirmed in her grip like an errant puppy, and the more he squirmed, the harder she shoved him against the ramp’s hydraulics. “Good to see you, too,” he coughed. His hands were wrapped around her arm, trying to pull her off, but she was watching and waiting for him to pluck a weapon out of nowhere. “It’s… been a few years.”

“Would that it had been centuries,” Sif replied, putting her sword to his throat. “You’re supposed to be dead, and by the Norns, I will be _happy_ to make that lie a reality.”

“Thor! A little help!”

The king smiled and settled in for the show. “Oh no, brother, I couldn’t possibly.”

Loki gulped. He caught sight of Valkyrie, standing a few paces off, looking utterly relaxed and unconcerned. “Sif, this is Brun, she—”

“Unless she’s your jailer, I don’t give a damn who she is.”

“You know, your highness,” Valkyrie said dryly, “I don’t think she likes you very much,”

Loki grinned in spite of the blade at his throat. “We used to date.”

“When we were _twelve_ ,” Sif growled.

Valkyrie rolled her eyes skyward and turned on her heel. “In that case, you’re on your own, your highness. I don’t get involved in ex-girlfriend drama.”

Sif ignored her entirely. “Give me one good reason why I should not cut your head off this second.”

“You don’t need to kill me! Thor, tell her she doesn’t get to kill me!”

“I don’t want you to kill him, Sif.”

“But I swore I would kill you, Loki, if you betrayed Thor again.”

“I didn’t—! Thor, when was the last time I betrayed you?”

“Back on Sakkar, when you were going to hand me over to the Grandmaster for that reward. But it turned out fine!” Thor added hastily, as Sif’s sword blade began to crease Loki’s throat in earnest. “I electrocuted him, we hugged, it’s fine now.”

“...You hugged.”

“We hugged!”

“And that just... makes everything better?! The fact that he faked his own death? _Again?_ ”

“Oh, that’s not even the worst thing he’s done recently—”

“ _Now’s not the time, Thor!_ ” Tired of playing, or else seriously concerned that Sif was about to take his head off, Loki resorted to a clumsy but effective disarming maneuver: he gripped the wrist against his throat, pushed up instead of away, and then dropped to the ramp and pulled Sif up and over, flipping her onto the grass beside the ship.

“Oh, nicely done!” Valkyrie called, favoring him with mocking applause.

Loki couldn’t help it: he flourished his cape and bowed to her. “It was nothing.”

Sif scrambled to her feet, livid and wrathful. “Foul wretch, I’ll have your hands for trophies!”

“Ahem. If the children are finished playing...” Sif and Loki both looked and then snapped to attention when they saw that it was Councilor Freya who was speaking. “Your majesty, I would take my leave of Lady Sif and speak privately with your brother.”

Loki blinked in considerable surprise. Although he had visited Vanaheim many times in his youth, he had never met Freya before. He glanced at Thor in confusion, but got no answer there, since Thor looked as perplexed as Loki felt. “Of course, councilor,” said Thor finally. “Lady Sif and I do have some... considerable catching up to do.”

“I thank your majesty. Come with me, Prince Loki Odinson.”

The patronymic still made the bile rise in his throat, but he had learned to control it. Mostly. Enough that he could do as requested and follow the Vanir king’s daughter away from the ship and the assembled crowd.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw that she was leading him to what was undoubtedly her tent, an ornate assemblage of red sailcloth and finely carved crosspieces, its entryway flanked by guards and by flags of office.

 _My... this is fast. Even for me._ Though if that was what Freya had in mind, who was he to object? She was a king’s daughter, he was a king’s brother – nothing at all questionable about that. And he could not deny that she was exquisite, with a terrifying air of intelligence and command that he found intensely attractive. _Better than the Grandmaster by a long shot._

Unfortunate, how that had become his barometer for loathsome sexual encounters.

“Go,” she told the guards briefly. “The prince and I have matters of state to discuss.” The guards nodded and took their leave. Freya swept inside her tent and seated herself on a carved and cushioned chair. “Close the tent behind you.”

Loki did as he was bid, and then at a sign from her, knelt before her chair. “My lady,” he said in his most charming voice, bowing his head to show his willingness to do her bidding inside these cloth walls. To his surprise, she put her hand under his chin and made him look up. And for a long time, she simply stared at him, studying his face.

He quickly grew uncomfortable under her scrutiny, but he knew better than to squirm or object. He knew women of her caliber.

At last, she did something truly unnerving: with a gentleness he had not felt since his boyhood, she touched her fingertips to his cheek. “You look very much like your mother.”

Loki’s body, his mind, his entire being tensed. It was a lie – he knew damned well he looked nothing like Frigga – and yet it was not. It was an inaccuracy of facts, but Freya herself was _not_ attempting to deceive him or flatter him. He knew such lies, as he knew seidr; he had learned both at Frigga’s knee. And suddenly, he was afraid, because he had seen, or thought he had seen, his own face reflected in another, and very recently. On a grassy cliff in Norway, and on the Bifrost, the day Asgard fell…

“You are very kind, my lady,” he said quietly. “But… are you quite certain that I look like a child of Odin?”

“No, not of Odin, nor yet of his line. Not of Asgard at all. But nevertheless, a son of a worthy mother.”

“But how...” Loki Silvertongue struggled to find speech, as the realization made his heart turn to water. “How would you know?”

Freya let out a low huff of a laugh. It was a thing to chill the blood, not because it was cruel, but because it was bitter. “The Vanir have never shared Asgard’s quarrel with Jotunheim, Loki.”

“And... you know my... she who bore me?” The words were clipped and forced. He did not want to know the answers, but a horrible curiosity compelled him to ask.

“I do, though I have not seen her in many a long century. Not since the Allfather forbade the Vanir to travel to Jotunheim and the Jotnar to travel here.”

“But it was forbidden long before I was born—”

“It was forbidden to Asgardians. But there was a time when my people and the Jotnar mingled freely. We took lovers, wives, husbands. It was a good bond. It protected us all. Then Laufey tried to conquer Midgard... and it all went wrong.”

 _Like father, like son._ The thought drifted through Loki’s mind, accusatory and shaming, before he could shut it down. “If you meant for me to be shocked by these revelations, Lady Freya, I am afraid I must disappoint you. I have learned far more about the Allfather recently than I have cared to. There’s little you could tell me about his past deeds that could surprise me now.”

“Your mother was my friend,” said Freya softly.

Loki began to tremble. “And did she tell you about me?” he asked, with only a sour smile to hint at his growing rage. How dare this woman. How _dare_ she! “About how I was born small? And weak? About how Laufey abandoned me on the altar of a temple, left as a sacrifice to the ice and the wolves, to ensure that the Jotunn gods smiled on his war of conquest? Because that decision has worked out _so_ well for them.”

Councilor Freya said nothing. She only gazed at him with dark, thoughtful eyes, sizing him up for something – what, Loki could not imagine.

“Your friendship with Jotunheim, my lady, means less than nothing to me. It is your friendship with Asgard that concerns my brother and me now.”

“Ah, yes. Asgard.” Freya rose from her chair and went to a laden sideboard, and poured mead for them both. She handed Loki a horn and waited for him to drink first, as was customary for a guest. After weeks upon weeks of drinking Sakaaran swill, he had to restrain himself from guzzling the glorious nectar of the Vanir. The councilor drank in reply, and then squared her shoulders, becoming the consummate politician once more. “Tell me, prince: what has become of Asgard?”


	9. Long Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asgardians can stay in Vanaheim, for now, but Freya has her reasons for wanting them gone, reasons that prompt yet more uncomfortable revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was up until 1 am working on this chapter because head-cold. It is long and plotty and also full of feels. Be warned: the next chapter will involve a **lot** of feels.
> 
> A special shout-out to portraitoftheoddity for giving me the idea for the main plot thrust of this chapter. :D
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“Tell me all that has happened,” Sif said. She planted herself before Thor and Heimdall, in an attitude that both men knew boded ill if they tried to dissuade her or change the subject again.

Loki and Councilor Freya were still hidden away in her tent. Valkyrie, Bruce, and Korg were manning the ramp, as there had been no word yet as to whether the people would be allowed to disembark.

There was no use putting it off any longer.

They had promised beforehand that they would not identify the woman with them as the last of the Valkyries, referring to her simply as ‘Brun’. They had also agreed, before disembarking, not to reveal to Sif that Loki had been masquerading as Odin.

The fact that she had tried to take off his head the moment she saw him, confirmed their decision.

But the truth of Ragnarok, they could not hide from her, so together, over the course of several hours, they told her everything: Odin’s death, Hela’s return, Thor’s time on Sakaar (he fibbed slightly in the telling of that, explaining that Sakaar was where Loki had been hiding for four years and where his powers had been drained), and of finding the Hulk and Brun and Loki there and convincing them to return with him to Asgard.

Heimdall stepped in then, to tell the things that Thor had not been present for: how the Warriors Three had perished at Hela’s hand, how the nobility of Asgard had fallen in line behind her while the common folk resisted and fled into the mountains, where he had hidden them.

Finally, they described the final battle against Fenris and the undead army, how Thor lost his eye and gained his full powers, and how the only way to save Asgard’s people was to destroy Asgard itself. Thor made a special effort to tell the tale of how Loki flew back into the Hall of Treasures, to place the great skull in the Eternal Flame that would allow Surtr to arise and defeat Hela.

Throughout, Sif sat in stunned silence. At times, her fists clenched; at other times, there were tears rolling down her face. When Thor and Heimdall finally finished their tale, she still said nothing. She rose and walked to the edge of the woods, took out her sword, and began screaming like a Berserker, lashing out at the defenseless birch and hacking it to pieces.

Thor could only watch in dismay. Heimdall gripped his shoulder. “She’s taking this about as well as anyone could expect.”

“I know, I just... I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Get used to that,” Heimdall advised.

Thor wanted to hit him. He wanted to follow Sif, wrap her in his arms, and hug her until she stopped yelling so that they could cry together. He wanted to crawl under the ship and go to sleep.

But Headwoman Skanda was approaching, to discuss accommodations for his people during their stay, so Thor swallowed his wants and turned to her with a ready smile.

* * *

Sif had chopped the birch down and split it into kindling, thoroughly abusing her sword in the process, before Loki and Freya emerged from their council. At the sight of them, she turned and disappeared into the forest without a word.

“The prince has told me all,” Freya said to Thor. “Odin’s death, the executioner Hela. Ragnarok. He has pleaded your case eloquently. And so I have agreed to permit your people to remain on Vanaheim for the time-being.”

Thor let out an unkingly sigh of relief. “My deepest thanks, Lady Freya,” he said, taking the hand she offered in both of his and clasping it warmly. Then he turned and gripped his brother’s shoulder in thanks, much to Loki’s confusion. “You also have our people’s gratitude, Loki. And mine.”

Loki hesitated for a second or two, and then an almost bashful smile flitted across his face.

“And I have given my consent for our Asgardian cousins to encamp on the Field of Bones,” said Skanda. She gestured to the field beyond the ship, where her villagers were already hard at work setting up tents and yurts for the refugees, who were now beginning to trickle out of the ship, gently shepherded by Heimdall and Korg and some of the other gladiators. They were all blinking in the midday sunlight, so different from the harsh lights of the cargo ship, and carrying what belongings they had left.

“This is well done, and does credit to Vanaheim.” Freya turned to Thor and looked up at him with a steady, steely gaze. “But let it be stated clearly, before witnesses: this arrangement is temporary. Once you Asgardians have gathered enough supplies to continue on your journey, you will leave.”

“Of course we will leave” replied Thor, mildly insulted. “You have no cause to assume that we would behave otherwise!”

“The Vanir have long memories, your majesty. Longer than the Aesir, even. We know your father of old.”

“I am not my father.”

“That, you will have to prove. For now, I will return to the city, and relate all that has happened to the council and to the king.” She bowed deeply to Thor, a princess before a foreign king, and turned to take her leave of Loki, whose status more closely matched her own.

She came close, and for a moment he tensed, so visibly that even his brother noticed. But she simply offered him her hand, which he kissed. “I would speak with you again, my lord, when your affairs here are more settled.”

“I do not think that likely or wise, Councilor. But... I will not dismiss the possibility out of hand.”

Thor’s eye narrowed suspiciously at this exchange, and he told himself to ask Loki about it later.

“I must also take my leave,” said Skanda. “It is growing late, and I must gather the villagers to tell them all what has passed here today. I hope that you will join us in the village tonight, majesty, that we may drink to our cousins in Valhalla.”

“Thank you, Skanda,” said Thor, surprised and touched at the request. “Of course we will join you.”

She nodded. “In the meantime, we have prepared quarters for you and Prince Loki.” She showed them to the royal encampment and then departed back to the village, her spear of office over her shoulder.

“They really didn’t need to do this,” he muttered to Loki, when she was gone.

“If I’d known being king would turn you so humble, I would have stopped fighting you for the throne years ago.” Loki gave the enormous round red tent a glance-over and then peeked inside. “And once again, you get the biggest bed.”

“Oh, shut up, Loki.”

“ _And_ set up quite a little cold supper for you, too. I hope they’ve given me as nice of a spread, I’m ravenous.” He stepped back, letting the tent flaps fall, and then tugged a bit at his gauntlets, in a fidgeting gesture Thor was beginning to recognize. Normally Loki would flip his daggers or twine foxfire around his fingers when he was nervous about something, though it was not a trait Thor had seen him willingly display in a long time. “I thought you were jesting, before. When you thanked me for getting Freya to allow us to stay.”

“Jesting? Loki, no.” Thor shook his head in dismay. “I meant it, with a full heart. You were always the better negotiator.”

“When you let me speak,” Loki couldn’t help adding, remembering a hundred adventures that might have gone very differently, if Thor had used his brother’s quick wits and ready tongue instead of his hammer. Jotunheim, for instance...

“I was wrong,” said Thor simply. He laughed a little at Loki’s stunned expression. “I was wrong so many times, in our youth and in more recent years. But I cannot afford to be wrong about you anymore, not now, when I need you at my right hand.”

Loki still looked utterly stricken, but he tried to play it off. “Of course,” he said lightly, “you still need me to do all of the trade negotiations for you.”

“Well, yes... but that’s not really what I—”

“They’ve set up tents for Heimdall and Bruce and the gladiators nearby. And for me! I’m surprised there’s a tent for me at all,” Valkyrie said, grinning a bit as she came to join them. “I’d expected to have to curl up on a blanket roll outside someone’s door.”

“Oh, surely not,” Loki replied, the picture of innocence. “There’s plenty of room on my floor.”

“Just on your floor?”

“What happened between Asgard and Vanaheim to have set Freya’s suspicions on edge?” Thor asked, cutting their flirtation short. “It must have been in the distant past, in the days before Hela’s defeat. You were there, surely.”

“I was.” Valkyrie’s tone of voice made it plain that she did not want to talk about the days before Hela’s defeat. Or the days after. Or anything relating to her life before Sakaar. “I remember when she rode at Odin’s right hand, but I wasn’t one of the Valkyrior then. We came later. But what do you mean, ‘what happened’ between the realms? You know what happened.”

“Uh...” Thor looked expectantly at his brother, who shrugged. “Not really? We know that we’ve been allies with Vanaheim for three thousand years, but beyond that—”

She gaped at them. “Oh, you have got to be _joking_. Are you seriously telling me that a pair of literal Princes of Asgard don’t know about the Aesir-Vanir war? Nothing? Not even a hint about why Councilor Freya might be a little eager to reassert her family’s power over this realm now that Asgard’s been obliterated?”

“Don’t look at me,” Thor said, “Loki’s the history scholar.”

“The scholar in general, you mean. But I’ve never come across anything that even mentions a war between Asgard and Vanaheim.”

Valkyrie let out a low whistle and shook her head. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. If you didn’t know about Hela, why would you know about Bor and Odin’s wars of conquest?”

“Conquest?” Thor scoffed. “Vanaheim was never conquered by Asgard, they’ve always been a protectorate. They needed the Allfather to rule them from afar, to guide their own king—”

“Njord is a puppet,” Valkyrie said bluntly. “Always has been. He was put on the throne after Hela slaughtered the previous king. Vanaheim _remembers_ Odin’s executioner, you can take my word on that. The royal family certainly does. He was content enough to rule under Asgard, but his son and especially his daughter were never reconciled to being under the Allfather’s thumb.”

Thor sank slowly onto the chair of office that had been placed outside his tent. He couldn’t simply dismiss what she was saying, not after everything he had learned about his father’s hidden past, but... “We’ve known Freyr since we were children. The lady of Vanaheim, we never saw, but the lord of the Vanir... We’ve feasted together, fought together... I was here repelling invaders after the destruction of the Bifrost, and he sent word of his congratulations and thanks... and I never knew. He never gave any indication...” His face darkened. “He must loathe us.”

“Maybe not you two personally, but what you stand for?” Valkyrie made a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “And they weren’t the only ones by a long shot. They were just the ones who behaved. Unlike...” Her eyes flickered to Loki.

“Unlike Jotunheim,” he said darkly, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“Brother, she didn’t mean—”

“Uh, no, I did. Laufey thought Asgard was getting too much territory too quickly, and wanted another realm of his own, to shore up his defenses. He thought Midgard would be an easy conquest.”

“Like father, like son,” Loki muttered, giving speech to the thought that had lurked in the back of his mind all day. His lip curled in a snarl and he turned away roughly. “I’ll be in my tent.”

He stormed away quickly, before Thor could call him back with well-meaning but ill-timed words of brotherly love.

* * *

The problem with tents, Loki had always felt, even large spacious ones intended to house royalty, was that they had no doors to slam. And he _badly_ wanted a door to slam.

He settled for overturning a chair as soon as he got inside, and then kicking a few assorted cushions. Far from making him feel better, instead, he felt childish.

His mother’s voice wafted through his head like a cool spring breeze, a remembrance of the aftermath of a long-ago fit of pique: _“My boy, I know you are upset, but you are far too old for temper tantrums.”_

Sighing, Loki rubbed his temples. “Yes, Mama,” he murmured under his breath. Then he scoffed at himself. Talking to memories again, in the absence of anything useful to do. What he _wanted_ to do was vent his rage at being lied to – again – by using his powers to turn every last Asgardian in a ten-mile radius into something useful. Horses, goats, even honeybees would suffice. Anything to atone for the crime of being the remains of a people once ruled over by such a cowardly butcher—

“You want to talk?”

Loki looked up to see Valkyrie standing in the doorway of his tent. “Not especially.” But he gestured for her to come in and make herself free of the place.

“Nice,” she commented, looking around. “Especially on short notice. Lots of tasteful green.”

“The Vanir are known for their prowess at encampment, and I am well-known for my colors. Unfortunately. Are the people settling in?”

“Well enough.” She walked past him and sat on his bed, passing a hand lightly over his chest as she went. It was almost a caress and certainly meant to comfort. “You left before we were done.”

“I was done. I did my part. I’ve had enough dirty family secrets for one day. I’m tired now.” He cast an eye over the food spread out on the board, feeling vaguely hungry. His appetite always tripled when his magic was at its lowest ebb and there had been short rations to contend with on the ship, and since arriving in Vanaheim, the flow of the realm’s energies were seeping into his bones and making hunger tear at his stomach. But after Freya’s revelations, followed so closely by more awfulness from Odin’s past, the thought of food made him want to retch.

Still, an apple couldn’t hurt, and the Vanir were famous for their orchards. He plucked a golden apple from a plate heavy with fruit and set to peeling it, easing the blade of his dagger under the delicate skin so that the peel was nearly transparent. “I’ve been debating turning the Asgardians into farm stock. We’d be much more likely to find homes for them if they were cattle, and no one in the Nine Realms would look askance at them or burden them with horrific tales of colonial slaughter...”

“They’re common folk. They fought Hela. Your court nobles were the cattle. If they were here? I wouldn’t stop you. But you don’t have the right to make these people suffer for your disgust over what Odin did.”

He glanced her way as the bite in her words sank in, and then shrugged. “I couldn’t do it, anyway. Not right now. Just being here is making me feel more like myself, but I haven’t had a chance to properly imbibe the realm’s energies. Not yet.”

“I could help, you know.”

Loki smiled faintly. “I’m not so tired that I can’t peel an apple...” He looked up and was suddenly speared by the intensity of her eyes. “Ah.” A minute tremble forced him to still his hands. “Thor told you about the energy transfer.”

“Oh god, no,” Valkyrie scoffed. “No, I figured out weeks ago that you were probably using the off-energy from sex to power yourself.”

“You _knew_? And you didn’t say anything?” Loki’s jaw dropped slightly. “And here I was worried that I was taking advantage of you. That is,” he corrected in haste, “Thor was worried.”

“Concerned about me, prince? I’m so touched.” There was a hint of something ill-omened in her voice that Loki couldn’t quite place. “No, I had a lover once who was a bit of a sorceress, who did that from time to time. It’s a very distinct feeling, but it doesn’t hurt me, and it always embarrassed her slightly, so I figured you were probably the same.”

“Ahhh.” He nodded and returned to denuding his apple. “Was this the woman with the son?”

“Inge? No, no... before her. Way before. In the Valkyrior.”

She was not nearly as good a liar as she was a fighter. Loki saw clearly that the sorceress in question very likely _was_ the woman with the son, and now she had a name: Inge. And plainly, Valkyrie was hesitant to share more about her with him. He understood that very well. He disliked sharing his memories of Sigyn with anyone, even with those who had known her.

And why shouldn’t they hesitate? Sigyn had left him without a word, and Inge had told Valkyrie to go. It was not a comfortable feeling, knowing that their lovers had felt the need to protect themselves to such an extent. Those remembrances were laced with so much bittersweet pain that they wanted to hold it in as much as let it go.

“It is never easy,” he said, choosing to respond to the word of her reply rather than the spirit, “to be reminded of people lost so tragically. You jested with me not long about about ‘pretty little princes’ falling in love with good-looking court ladies or Einherjar and then losing them. Which is not an unfair accusation. But they were not all transient nights of pleasure.”

“Ah, now we come to it,” said Valkyrie knowingly. She settled back on his bed and crossed her arms behind her head. “And was there a glorious young Einherjar, once?”

“Of course there was. There always is. And more than once.” He finished peeling his apple and carved off a slice into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing before he continued. “But once, there was someone... more than that.”

His tone was so wistful, Valkyrie couldn’t bring herself to smirk. “What was he like?”

“He was the first man I ever fell in love with. Harald Jorvikson ...By all the ancestors, he was beautiful. And so honored that one of the princes should take an interest in him! It went straight to his head. And to mine.”

“Mhmm. And how long did that last? Up until he got married to someone more fitting his station? I remember what court life was like. There were always love affairs on top of love affairs.”

“Well... he got married, yes.” Loki’s face split into a grin. “After he introduced me to the lady he was courting, I took a fancy to her, we both ended up in bed with her, and that carried on for several decades.”

“Ah, and let me guess: half of his children were actually yours.”

The grin vanished. “That would be an emphatic ‘no’,” he said flatly. “I rather think Gudrun would have noticed if she’d started giving birth to Frost Giants.”

“I was wondering if you were ever going to mention that to me,” Valkyrie said, after a moment. “I mean, the whole ship knows, thanks to those plays you put on while you were pretending to be Odin. None of them seem to know _that_ part of it, but they all know you’re Jotunn by birth. They don’t seem too bothered by it.”

“I helped save their miserable necks, that’s the least they can do.”

“Oh, stop being such a diva. They’re all commoners and perfectly ready to idolize you and build more statues to you. I’ve seen the kids following you around and begging for card tricks.”

“...And it clearly hasn’t bothered you.”

“I have slept with worse,” she said, without an ounce of regret.

His grin reluctantly returned. “So have I.” And for one jumbled, all-overish moment, he wanted to tell her what Freya had revealed to him about his true parentage. She wouldn’t speculate or recoil; she would _understand_.

But the subject had stirred up old, half-buried memories that he had not intended to revisit, and he shied away from his Jotunn heritage to let the rest of the other story spill out instead. Of how Loki had, in his youthful panic, rushed to his mother when he learned of Gudrun’s first pregnancy, and how the queen had laid her own hands on the girl to determine whose child it truly was. How Odin had performed Harald and Gudrun’s marriage himself that very day, and provided the balance of her dowry from the palace’s own coffers... and then assigned the young Einherjar and his new bride to fortifications on the other side of the city, well away from the palace and his troublesome younger son’s usual haunts. Loki hadn’t understood, at the time, why there had been need of such secrecy and haste, let alone why he had been separated from people whom he loved and who loved him.

“You must think of the needs of others, as well as of your own desires,” Odin had said, at the time. "It may do you no great harm to become known for seduction, but think what such rumors would do to them. They are plain people, Loki, with their own lives to lead. You must let them attend to their lives, and you must attend to yours.”

And then he had turned away, oblivious to the devastation on his child’s face.

“It all make sense _now_ , in hindsight,” he said, slicing off another bit of apple to give himself a moment’s pause to regroup. “Of course Odin and Frigga wanted to prevent me from getting children before they could tell me of my true parentage. But at the time…”

“They were trying to protect you,” said Valkyrie, holding out her hand for a slice. “It’s what parents do. And most of the time, they suck at it.”

A laugh Loki had not intended jerked from his throat. “You are... the first person to say that to me.”

“What, that Mummy and Daddy don’t always know best? You’re kidding.”

“I was raised a prince. When your parents are also your sovereigns, you don’t have the option of thinking that too loudly.”

“Didn’t you have anyone on your side? What about Thor?”

“Thor knows about my sexual preferences, but he’d very much rather he didn’t. No, the only person who gave a damn was Sigyn.”

“Your wife? Really?”

“She wasn’t my wife yet. This was before, when she was the captain of my mother’s personal guard. She was also entrusted with my weapons training. It was a common enough sight to see us riding out together before dawn, towards the hills beyond the city, and not return until after dark that night or even the next night.” He looked down at the dagger and the apple, smiling to remember just how he had learned such a delicate touch. “She had no lusty designs on me, but she cared for me, and pitied me in my grief enough to help reunite me with my two favorites. And those were... exquisite nights. Just... lying in Harald and Gudrun’s arms, while their golden little daughter burbled contentedly in the cradle nearby. They named her Lyka, in my honor. I doted on her...”

Loki closed his eyes against a sudden wave of emotions he had thought long-buried and forgotten. “They were married long enough to have one more child, a boy, as bright and blond as his father, before Harald was cut down in battle on Muspelheim, a victim of one of the thousands of warriors trapped in thrall to the sorceress Lorelei. I was at that battle. I saw him... I brought the news to Gudrun myself. I held her as she sobbed, and I remember... the way the children looked half in awe that the sorcerer-prince was visiting them, half in despair at the tidings I had to tell.

“And even then, I was searching their faces for any impression of my own, especially in Lyka. I didn’t know then what I know now, about my true parentage, and I wondered, and longed, and hoped against hope that Frigga had been wrong about her. That she truly was my daughter. But all I ever saw were Harald’s bright, wondering blue eyes in a smaller version of Gudrun’s face.”

His hands were shaking so badly, he had to toss the rest of the apple to Valkyrie and set the dagger down. He would clean it off, of course, but he needed a moment...

“It sounds like you loved them very much,” she said, uncharacteristically gentle, as though taking care that he should not misconstrue her words.

“I did...” Loki nodded and turned away, too painfully aware that his face was a mask of misery. “I did, and I never saw any of them again, after that night. In her grief, Gudrun said... she accused me of plotting her husband’s death in battle. That I had always been jealous of the love Harald bore her, a love I could not have all for myself. She said nothing of the love I felt for her, the love we had shared... I left the house blinded by tears.” It sounded like the plight of such a young man... how had he _ever_ been so young? “It was all Sigyn could do to get me out of the courtyard and back to the inn where she always stayed while I was with my...” Loki bit his tongue and dashed away a few bitter, tired tears.

That was the first night he spent in Sigyn’s arms, and he spent it crying himself into exhausted sleep. He still remembered waking in the middle of the night, clinging to her, terrified that someone else he loved would abandon him. And he still remembered her words. “I never shall, my prince. Even if I should be worlds away, I will be with you.”

He did not say as much to Valkyrie. There were things about Sigyn, after all, that were for him alone. But he had never forgotten her promise, and he clutched the memory it close to his heart.

“Lyka... Lyka Haraldsdottir... I’ve seen that name before.” Valkyrie frowned as she finished off the apple. “On the manifest. Loki, she’s on the ship.”

“I know. With her younger brother. Thialfi. But Gudrun’s not there... I’ve thought about seeking them out, at least giving them a familiar face to latch onto. The boy might not remember me, but Lyka will. But,” he continued, more caustically, “no doubt she’ll have had her memories of me poisoned by her mother, and would like as not try to stab me in the face, rather than find it comforting.”

“There do seem to be a lot of people who want to stab you in the face,” Valkyrie agreed. “How old is she?”

Loki cast his mind back. “In the middle of her sixth century, or thereabouts.”

“So, a young woman without home or kin, trying to care for an adolescent boy.” She leveled a look at the back of Loki’s head that he swore he could feel burning through his skull. “Are you really going to let them scrounge around on their own because of something their mother said in the throes of grief, more than half a millennium ago?”

“...Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so petty.” He let out a slow breath and then picked up his dagger. Turning around, he produced a cleaning cloth from his sleeve and began carefully removing the fruit juice from the blade. “Perhaps I could ask Thor about taking them as wards of the crown... He’s soft-hearted enough, and he likes children, even if he’s not as adept with them as me.”

“Good. So. Why didn’t you and Sigyn have any of your own?”

He’d been expecting the question, and was prepared for it, but his jaw still tightened when it was asked. “It never seemed like the right time,” he said simply, and hoped Valkyrie would accept that answer and let it go.

To his relief, she did.


	10. The Burden of Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mourning begins, a slow trickle at first, but walls are starting to break under the strain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be up yesterday but I had to go see _Ragnarok_ a third time. Mainly because I wanted to, but also because there were some details I wanted to check. ...But mostly because I wanted to. Ohmygod this is a long chapter. Also, I suppose even fic writers deserve Sundays off.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

With Loki and Valkyrie gone and Sif not yet returned, Thor took a moment to duck into his tent – though ‘pavilion’ was perhaps the better word for the temporary regal edifice – and regroup. There was indeed a vast feast spread out on the board, with cold roasts and smoked fish, loaves of bread, platters of fruit, tray after tray of sweetmeats, and an array of libations of the kind Thor had been dreaming of for months. He indulged in a cup of Vanaheim’s finest cider, preferring to save the mead for later, when the camp and the village gathered to drink to their dead.

He had a feeling he, and everyone else, were going to be drinking quite a lot of mead that night.

When he emerged, he saw Korg and Bruce coming towards his tent, with an easy camaraderie that made Thor grin, in spite of everything. Korg was easy-going and good-natured but he was no fool; even so, Thor wasn’t entirely sure if he believed their story about how small, nervous Dr. Banner was really the grand champion of Sakaar.

Then again, he might. He was a walking, talking killing machine made of rocks who felt guilty if he stepped on a bug, and who had no problems accepting that Thor could control lightning and thunder and was related to Death herself. If Thor asked, Korg would probably say, “Oh, yeah, of course they’re the same. What I can’t figure is, how do you fit the big green guy inside the little pink one?”

Which, of course, Thor had no good answer for.

“What’s the news?” he asked, glad to be able to drop the Asgardian formalities for the time-being. Valkyrie had been off-world long enough not to care, but with Loki, he found himself falling into old patterns of speech. Even their insults had to be poetic, else they were not fit for princes.

“Seems like everybody’s settling down,” Korg said, his soft middle tones still not quite fitting his huge craggy frame. “Been one or two squabbles. But then, it’s hard to keep things orderly when you’ve got five thousand high-density aliens who just watched their planet get blown up by a fire demon.”

“That’s, uh... that’s definitely something to take into account,” Thor agreed. “What kind of squabbles?”

“Class things, mostly, I think,” said Bruce. He was still tugging at the neck of the snug Sakaaran uniform, trying to break it in. “Though it’s kinda hard to tell, everyone’s clothes are so pretty... I guess we got a few court people in with the commoners, and they’re trying to pull rank.”

“Typical,” Korg sighed. “That’s the sort of thing that makes people start revolutions.”

“No revolutions while we’re on Vanaheim,” said Thor sternly. “Tell Heimdall that if he can’t sort it out, to bring them to me. As far as I’m concerned, everyone’s a commoner right now, and if they need to hear that from their king, then they will.”

The sentiment seemed to affect Korg deeply, and he pulled Thor into a very shale-y hug. “You’re the sort of king I can do business with.”

“Thank you,” Thor winced. Korg released him and he let out a sharp gasp.

“And if that doesn’t work, you can always sic the ghost on them.”

“...‘The ghost’?”

“Yeah, the fella who’s always wandering around the cargo bays when he should be up on the bridge. Horns? Wears lots of green?”

“Oh, Loki! You mean Loki. You know, the prince, my brother?”

“He’s a freakin’ ghost if he can be in two places at once.”

“Ah... has he been doing that a lot?”

“Enough, apparently,” said Bruce, giving up on his collar and cuffs and shoving his hands into his pockets. Thor hid a smile and promised to find his friend some more comfortable Vanir-style clothing. It wouldn’t be Midgardian shirts and pants, but at least it would be looser. “Just today, I’ve heard all sorts of talk about him appearing and disappearing and walking through walls. Mostly from the kids. They all think it’s a great joke.”

That didn’t surprise Thor in the least. “I’d wondered what he was doing in his spare time,” he murmured fondly.

“Isn’t he supposed to be running on empty? How’s he copying himself if he can’t even do magic?”

“The casting of his image was one of the first illusions Loki learned as a child. He used to use it to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night and raid the palace kitchens. Later on, he would send his double in to dinner when he was sulking, so he wouldn’t have to sit next to me.” Thor couldn’t help it, and grinned at the memory. “He’s always been very good at being exactly where he wasn’t supposed to be. Projection is so second-nature to him at this point, it might not even count as ‘magic’. He just does it.”

“I think there might be a double meaning in that somewhere,” said Bruce wryly. Then he glanced up at the sky. “Does the sun work the same way here as on Earth? ‘Cause if this was Earth, I’d say it was gonna get dark real soon.”

Thor looked at the sun and the shadows. “Different planet, same solar path. You two get some rest before the memorial tonight. I need to go find someone.”

* * *

It took time, but in the end, it wasn’t hard for him to track Sif. All he had to do was follow the line of hacked and shattered trees. “At least we won’t have to worry about firewood while we’re here,” Thor said, by way of greeting.

Sif said nothing. She sat on a freshly-downed tree trunk, staring straight ahead, with her fists in her lap. Her double-bladed sword lay in the beech mast at her feet, the steel nicked and burred from ill-usage.

Cautiously, Thor lowered himself down to sit beside her.

“The memorial service starts just after sunset, but Heimdall suggested we hold a private one for the Warriors Three. He saw them fall, and he wants to honor them. Hogun’s wife will be there, and Volstagg’s son Alaric, and Loki and I will stand as Fandral’s kin...”

Thor trailed off, but got no response. He rubbed a hand over his shorn hair and hunched forward, with his elbows on his thighs, and dropped his eyes to her weapon.

“That sword,” he murmured, almost conversationally, “is one of the finest in the Nine Realms. One of the best, if not _the_ best. I have seen it in battle many times, and never once known it to be bested. In fact, it’s beaten enemies that not even Mjolnir could have defeated. I don’t think it deserves to be abused and cast off like this.”

“What the sword _deserved_ ,” Sif replied, her voice strained with the struggle to maintain her composure, “was to be broken in battle alongside its friends. Instead, it was here, alone and unheeded, while the weapons of better warriors were slaughtered. It cannot be grateful for the whims of Fate that allowed it to survive, when all others fell.”

Thor sighed and sat up. “Not all others,” he reminded her.

“Odin had no right to keep this from me. I was one of your companions, one of the elite of Asgard’s warriors – I should have been there!”

“You would have died.”

“Then I would have died as a warrior! Not been hidden away and protected like a court gentlewoman!” Her rage boiled over, hot and poisonous. “I should have been there. I had a duty to protect my home and my people, and that was taken from me. I should have... I...” Her jaw clenched and her eyes squeezed shut against the howl of anguish she refused to let fly.

“I know. If you think I do not understand the... impotent helplessness you’re feeling right now, you are very, very wrong, Sif. But there was nothing you could have done. There was nothing any of us could do, except what we did.” He put his arm around her and gently pulled her against his side. She was stiff and reluctant in his embrace at first, not wanting to give in to her sorrow. But he understood.

“You have always been the fiercest of us,” Thor murmured. “But even the fiercest warrior is allowed to grieve for the fallen.”

“‘We will not mourn,’” Sif choked against his shoulder, reciting part of the prayer for the dead, “‘for those who have died a glorious death.’”

Thor rested his cheek against her hair. “I know. But tears do not shame those who feast in Valhalla.”

She broke, her horror and her anguish and the pent-up fear of two years crashing over her and making a mockery of her warrior’s self-control, and she sobbed in his arms. Thor wrapped his cloak around them both as the shadows lengthened, and simply held her, until she had cried herself weary.

A hush fell over them, as she quieted, and it seemed wrong for Thor to break it with any attempt at words of comfort, so he remained silent until she spoke first.

“I should not speak of right,” Sif whispered, her voice gone hoarse. “For you had the right of knowing, and should have known what burden the Allfather was leaving to you, and you did not.”

 _You don’t know the half of it,_ Thor thought grimly, for though he had told her of Hela, the full truth of Asgard’s brutal domination of the Nine Realms had not been revealed to anyone outside of his circle. Sif would have to be told... but he was not ready to share that burden with her. Not now. Not after the damage she had done to her sword and the damage she seemed willing to do to herself for the crime of ignorance. “We had no idea, Loki and I, until Odin died. But when he told us—”

He felt Sif’s entire body frown, and inwardly, he cursed.

“Wait. Odin told both of you? But I thought you said you discovered Loki later, on this ‘Sakaar’.”

“No, I – that is, that’s where I found _out_ that he’d been hiding. You see,” he fibbed quickly, “Odin knew that Loki was alive, and was letting him continue living on Sakaar, in self-imposed exile, but he sent for Loki when he knew he was dying.”

“Why.”

“Because Loki is his son,” said Thor, not needing to lie about that. “And my brother. And Father forgave him, at the end.”

“...And is that why you seem so quick to trust him?”

“Sif...” He let go and allowed her to sit up, momentarily struck by how the fit of crying had altered her features. Not that anyone looked their best after a bout of broken snotty sobbing, but Thor had never seen his friend look so... vulnerable. “He and I faced Ragnarok together. The end of days. He could have left after Asgard’s destruction, but he didn’t. He stayed, and he’s helping our people. He deserves another chance. And,” he continued, as she picked up her sword and pulled out a sharpening stone, “he’s injured.”

“He seemed more than capable of holding his own this morning,” she reminded Thor, beginning to fix the damage she had done to her blade.

“Yes, but did he use magic? Did he draw you out with a double or throw illusory daggers or real fire at you? No, because he can’t. He was hurt on Svartalfheim, and it’s damaged his powers. He can’t defend himself. He needs me.”

Sif glanced at him with a curiously dubious look. “You said the Heimdall needed Loki’s help, needed extra power to make the contact with me. Thor, the power behind that contact was immense and terrible, like nothing I’ve ever felt from Heimdall. If that was truly from Loki, then I think he is not nearly as defenseless as he’s led you to believe.”

“I watched him transfer that energy to Heimdall. It nearly killed him. I know; I had to replenish him myself.” Thor held up his bare hand and let the sparks and rills of electricity dance between his fingers, drawing Sif’s attention and smiling. “We’re here because of him.” _And so are you,_ he realized, with a dawning sense of wonder. “And that is a debt I can never repay.”

* * *

A small group of Asgardians gathered in the royal pavilion. There was little light, save for the small soft glow of what the Aesir called foxfire and what the Vanir called ghostlights – vessels containing luminescent energy. The king was there, and the prince. The gatekeeper, and the lady of Asgard. The secret Valkyrie. A Vanir with a proud face. A small blond boy trying to be brave, with the king’s hand on his shoulder.

Heimdall stood in the center of the small circle, waiting.

“We gather in this place to hear the deeds of the fallen,” Thor said, quietly, an echo of the loud but solemn call he would utter later, to the vast assembly. “Our friends. Our fathers. Our loved ones. Our kin.”

Valkyrie stood calmly, her blue half-cape over her scrapper gear, and felt like an interloper. Beside her, Loki seemed more at ease, his hands behind his back, with a thousand years of court training showing in his bearing. But when she snuck her hand back to brush his fingers, she felt the rigid tension in his muscles. Only for a split second, and then he shook her off and clasped his hands loosely in front of his stomach, but she had felt it.

He didn’t want to be here anymore than she did.

“I saw the ends of the men who called themselves The Warriors Three,” Heimdall said. “There is little to say, for their deaths were quick, but I will tell the tale.” He rarely needed to raise his voice, and certainly not in so small a space, where the people gathered to listen hung onto his every word. “Volstagg was the first to fall.”

The boy standing before Thor went as rigid as a board. Thor’s hand on Alaric’s shoulder tightened, reassuring the child.

“He was cut down by Hela while defending the Bifrost.” Heimdall crouched down in front of Alaric, and his already low voice became even gruffer and more gentle. “If he’d had his way, she wouldn’t have made it out of the gate.”

“No one ever entered where Volstagg didn’t allow,” Thor said stoutly, and then glanced at Loki. As one who had long fought alongside Volstagg, it was his right and duty to speak, even if they had not been friends at the end.

Loki drew a deep breath, and chose careful words to honor a man who had badly let him down once, but whom his son considered a hero. “He was a fair man, when he was allowed to be.”

It was Sif’s turn, and she was able to speak the truth when she said, simply, “It was an honor to fight alongside him.”

“When I took the Bifrost sword from the observatory, I took this from your father.” He held out his hands, revealing a coiled brown braid and a long poniard that Volstagg had kept in his belt. “It was all I could get.”

Alaric’s lip wobbled dangerously, but he bit it hard and took the braid and the blade from Heimdall’s hands. “Thank you, Gatekeeper,” he whispered.

Heimdall nodded sadly and rose, facing Thor and Loki, standing on Thor’s right. “Fandral was killed at the same time as Volstagg, in the observatory. He fought briefly, but valiantly.”

“As he always did,” said Thor with a slight smile, though all could hear the lump in his throat. Loki only lowered his gaze briefly as a muscle in his cheek twitched, and his lips pressed together tightly. On Thor’s left, Sif took a deep breath and held it to keep herself from weeping. They had grown up together, the four of them, in the halls of the palace, the princes and the chamberlain’s daughter and the king’s nephew. Everyone knew Fandral was the distaff son of Odin’s youngest brother, who had been killed in a duel with his twin before Fandral’s birth, but it was never discussed as anything to be ashamed of.

“Fandral the Dashing, we called him, when we were boys,” Loki said quietly. “We all wanted to be heroes when we were young, but Fandral was the only one who ever really looked the part.”

Sif had to smile at that, remembering when the three of them, as very small boys, had all vied for her favor. She’d responded by beating them all up. “He would have cheerfully given his life for anyone, if he could go down with a laugh and a kiss from a pretty girl.”

Heimdall produced the tokens he had taken from Fandral, a ring and a pair of gloves, which Thor took carefully. He gave the ring to Sif, and to Loki, he gave one of the gloves.

Valkyrie’s stomach churned as she watched the solemn ritual of grief. How many of these ceremonies had she attended, in centuries past? Too many to count, too many people to name. Seeing Thor, seeing _Loki_ , handling personal relics of the handful of fallen someone had taken the time to retrieve anything from... it was too much. Too damned much.

Loki stared down at the soft black leather, smoothing the fingers one by one. He and his cousin Fandral had not been close. As with all of their shared companions, he had been more Thor’s friend than Loki’s, especially in the years leading up to Loki’s first disastrous attempt to take the throne. He felt the man’s absence and was sorry he had died at Hela’s hands, but as to truly mourning him... he couldn’t. He couldn’t mourn the unnamed dead. But he mourned for Asgard. He had hated the place, but... it was home. It held the only things left that he had treasured: memories of his wife, his mother, his carefree boyhood. He mourned for the books, the art, the artifacts. He cursed himself for not having stolen more when he’d had the chance... but he could not mourn for the people.

As Heimdall turned away, Thor closed his fist around Fandral’s glove. His bright, laughing kinsman... a nephew of Odin. No, better not to think of Odin now. He was still too angry, still too hurt. The pain of the lies and the bloodshed was too raw, and he felt shame, so much shame, in naming himself ‘Odinson’.

The gatekeeper went then to the Vanir woman at Sif’s left. “Breda,” he said softly, “I have no token of Hogun’s to give you but the tale of his honorable death.”

Breda took a deep breath and lifted her chin, a proud gesture, even in her grief. “I have tokens enough. I have his children. Tell the tale.”

So Heimdall told, of how Hogun had stood before Hela with the guards of the palace behind him, and fought to keep her from the throne. “He was the first to strike a blow, and the last to fall, defiant to the end.” And with nothing to give her, Heimdall placed his fist over his heart, and bowed low to the widow of the fallen hero of Vanaheim.

Thor glanced at Loki, and at Sif, and said what they were all thinking: “Hogun was... the best of us.”

“He taught us well,” Sif said. “His lessons will outlast us all.”

Loki’s lips twitched, but his voice was solemn enough. “I never thanked him... for putting up with as much nonsense from us as he did.”

That got a smile from Breda. 

Thor swallowed hard. He had attended many such memorials in his life, but never one so simple, or one that seemed like such an ending. “Volstagg. Fandral. Hogun. May you take your places in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave never die.”

The other Asgardians joined him in reciting the rest. “We will not mourn, for those who have died a glorious death.”

Breda alone did not speak the words. She was Vanir, as was Hogun, no matter how long he had lived among Asgardians. They had their own ways. When the others fell silent, she bowed her head and turned away, drawing a cloth over her hair as she slipped out of the tent and into the oncoming dusk to return to her village.

Sif, who was still quartered in Breda’s home, touched Thor’s arm lightly by way of leave-taking, and silently followed. Valkyrie left without looking at anyone. They all clearly needed time to rest and regroup before the public memorial ceremony.

Thor took a moment to compose himself, and then knelt down beside Alaric, who was still trying his best not to cry. “It’s okay, you know,” he said, smiling a little and brushing some of the child’s hair from his eyes. “I cried for your father.”

The boy nodded, aware that Thor was king now, rather than simply the big bluff man whose shoulders he used to ride on. But he didn’t look as though he _quite_ believed that crying was acceptable. “...Really?”

“Really. And I know you’re with people who can take care of you, but I want you to know: your father was one of my best friends, and he’d never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. So from now on, you’re under my protection, Alaric Volstaggson. Do you understand? You’re going to be a ward of the crown.”

“...Does that make me a prince?”

Thor grinned. Small children did have their priorities. “Not quite. But it does make you part of my family. And Loki’s family,” he added, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and hoping his brother would control the urge to grimace at the sentimentality. “So now you’ve got two royals on your side.”

Alaric tilted his head to one side and considered Thor with a heartbreaking mixture of suspicion and raw hope. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Thor ruffled the boy’s hair fondly and stood. To his surprise, Loki removed his helm and knelt down. He put a hand on Alaric’s shoulder and whispered something into his ear that made the boy’s teary eyes go wide, and then despite everything, Alaric giggled.

“That’s better,” Loki murmured. “Now, let Heimdall take you back to your minders, hmm?”

“What did you say to him?” Thor asked, after Heimdall and Alaric were gone. “That was probably the first time he’s laughed in weeks.”

“Something for his ears alone, brother. Children deserve their secrets. Especially ones that come from the God of Mischief.”

“Well, still. It was a kind thing. And a good foot to start off on. The last thing we need is for our first Royal Ward to be terrified of us.” Thor ran a hand over his face. “I’m sure there will be more.”

“...Actually, Thor, I did want to talk to you about that. There are some people...”

“Children?”

“Not anymore, they’re young adults at this point. But they’re alone, and I would like to offer them our protection.”

Something in Loki’s tone caught Thor’s attention, even more than his words. There was a strained brittleness there that he wasn’t sure what to make of. He gestured Loki to a chair. “Tell me about them.”

It took a while. It was a deeply painful, deeply personal story that Thor was sure he wasn’t getting the whole of, but what his brother was willing to tell was enough to shock and dismay him. “Loki... of course we’ll bring them under the royal banner, if you wish it, but I swear to you, I never knew.”

“That was rather the point of the whole subterfuge,” Loki pointed out bitterly.

“I remember Harald, and how fond you were of him, but I didn’t know about you and his wife. And certainly not about their children, or that you were prohibited from seeing them. I am _not_ surprised, however, to learn that you ignored that prohibition entirely,” he continued, with a rather knowing grin and a blatant attempt at lightening the mood. “You have no shame. Absolutely no shame.”

“It gets in the way, I find. If someone wants to get me into bed, I can usually tell, and what’s the point of letting shame stop me from having some fun?”

“Even after all this time, Loki, your morals continue to alarm me.”

Loki’s grin was one of his slow sly ones. “Morals are for people who are afraid that there’s judgment waiting on the other side of death. I have a better understanding. So when a woman asks me into her tent ten seconds after meeting me, I just assume she wants to have her way with me, and go from there.”

Thor laughed. “Of all the pompous princes, brother, you are the worst, to simply _assume_ that Lady Freya wished to take her to your bed.”

“I don’t recall you complaining that time we set down in Ljosalfheim and the princess promptly kidnapped you for a week.”

“We’d met before!”

“One time. At a dance!”

“Still, that was different,” Thor pressed. “We were invited and expected, and the princess was not the official representative of a foreign government _or_ old enough to be my mother.”

“Well, I’ve always said you’re too limited in your tastes. I happen to like older women. But be fair, Thor: given the circumstances, what else was I to reasonably expect?”

“I expect you to think as a king’s representative,” replied Thor, pouring his brother mead and handing it over with a pointed look. “With your head.”

“Unlike you, brother, I rarely think with anything else.” Loki’s smirk didn't quite reach his eyes. “And Freya insisting on having her way with me would have fit with the pattern of my life recently...”

“What, powerful people seducing you within seconds of meeting you? I wish I had your luck.”

“No,” said Loki with a quiet intensity that arrested Thor in the middle of drinking, “you do not. Not all seductions are sexual, or pleasant.”

Thor looked at him for a moment, then set his drink down and laid both hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Loki, if Valkyrie has been aught but civil to you—”

“Not her.”

“Then... who?”

Loki hesitated for a second or two before pulling away from Thor. “Sometimes, your life narrows to only two options. Two obvious choices. But between those two choices, there’s always a third. And a usually a fourth. And even sometimes a fifth, if you do not... limit yourself.”

“...The Grandmaster. Valkyrie mentioned that you had used seduction techniques to gain his favor, but I did not—”

“Believe her? Why not? It’s hardly the first time I’ve resorted to that.” His tone had turned teasing once more, and the light of battle was in his eyes now, as though he suddenly relished the chance to flyt with his brother, as of old. “Or have you forgotten the time in Nornheim when I wore out our prison guards so that we could all escape?”

“I have not forgotten,” said Thor carefully, though the truth was that he had tried, very hard, to put the event out of his mind. He had not relished the idea of his little brother debasing himself for his sake, and explaining their escape to their parents had been excruciating. “And I am not in a mood to trade barbs with you. I did believe Valkyrie. But I thought it was like all your other conquests: a means to an end.”

Loki's eyes flashed with a sudden angry fire. “And if it was? I have no compunctions about using the talents I have to hand, no matter how low _you_ may think them. Had I been told of my true heritage in my youth, perhaps I could have become more of a warrior, but I was left to find my own way!”

“I do not think you low!” Thor retorted. “But you feared the Grandmaster as much as anyone, that much was plain! And you do not linger in the beds of people who wish you dead!” A horrible thought occurred to him, and his anger drained away. “Unless... you did not linger by choice.”

Loki rolled his eyes and drank off his mead. “It was expedient. I would never have survived in the ring, not with my seidr so weakened. I did what was necessary until it was apparent that he was bored with me, and then I left.”

“And you thought... You seemed upset when you emerged from Councilor Freya’s tent.”

“I’ve already told you what we spoke of.”

“Loki, she didn’t—”

“Drop it.”

“But—”

“No. This is not for you. I am not some fragile mortal to be irreparably damaged by the sexual perversions of a half-mad despot. Besides, before Sakaar, I hadn’t had a single lay in six years. Believe me, it was fine. I have suffered far worse at other hands.”

“I know,” said Thor, gentling his voice. “I know you have. And I know I have not been as understanding as I ought.”

“I was technically a war criminal. Your lack of understanding was hardly surprising, at the time.”

“But I am here, now. I can listen.”

Loki let out a long-suffering sigh and moved to the board to refill his horn. “You are the king now. You have the cares and concerns of five thousand refugees on your shoulders, and the future of Asgard in your hands. You do not need to be burdened with my cares as well.”

“I am already burdened with them!” Thor all but roared, grabbing Loki by the shoulder, intending to spin him around and continue the argument as he had so many others when Loki frustrated him beyond reason: by holding him by the neck and not letting him look away.

Instead, Loki spun round on his own and struck the heel of his hand against Thor’s forehead. It was not a blow to incapacitate or even to disarm... or so Thor thought at first.

“You have no idea,” Loki whispered, his fingers digging into Thor’s scalp, “what my burdens are. I could show you, so easily. The torments I suffered after I dropped into the Void, the fear and degradation of being forced to invade a realm I wanted nothing to do with, with powers I could neither understand nor control, only respond to as they slowly consumed me. You think it was bad being the Grandmaster's plaything? It was _nothing_ compared to what had come before. It was sex and power games and being paraded around like a trophy. I got to be the center of attention without trying, for once in my life. It was _fun_ – no wonder you were always hogging the spotlight. So long as my mind was my own, his pleasures were nothing. But then you had to show up and spoil everything. Again. I’d counted on at least another week before he got tired of me and I had to flee for my life, but no. And suddenly there I was, running and fighting for my life. Again. It never seems to end.”

“Loki... I’m sorry.” Thor trembled under his brother’s palm. The thought of simply moving away did not cross his mind; he was trapped by some compulsion to stand still and listen. Perhaps it was Loki’s power. Perhaps it was Thor’s own guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“I could show you _all_ of it. Make you feel and hear and taste everything that I’ve ever done and had done to me.” Loki licked his lips nervously as his breathing became labored and wistful. “Or... I could make you forget. You would never know that you had heard any of this. I could lift the burden of worry from your shoulders.”

“Loki...” Gently, Thor wrapped his fingers around Loki’s wrist. When Loki did not react, Thor moved his hand off his forehead. “You are my brother. I will always worry about you.”

Loki gave a sudden sharp laugh, expelling some of the tension in his lean frame. “You’re like a hen with one chick. I’m fine, Thor.” He gave Thor a friendly punch on the shoulder and turned to go.

“Loki? If I can help you, or keep you from harm, I will do so. However I must. I swear it.”

“...Keep yourself from further harm. That will be enough.”


	11. Reparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki goes to find the children of his late lover, but there's something else he has to get off his chest first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S STILL TUESDAY WHERE I AM. I AM STILL ON SCHEDULE.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“Where do you go now?” Thor asked, before Loki could vanish.

“I... was going to go find the Haraldsborn. To tell them – well, to see if they want anything to do with me, first of all.” Loki worried at the inside of his cheek for a second or two, and then, with an effort to meet Thor’s eyes, “Will you join me? They may believe this tale of royal wardship better if the king is actually with me.”

Thor made a conscious effort not to smile like a lunatic. This new openness of his brother’s was strange but welcome, and also very likely fleeting. He did not wish to chase it away by making too much of it. “Of course I will go. But are you sure you want to do this now, before the public ceremony?”

“Yes, best to do it now and get it over with. That way if they want nothing to do with me, I’ll have a head-start on the foul mood that tonight is sure to induce.” 

Thor poured him another mead for the road. 

The encampment that had been created for the Asgardian survivors was certainly an impressive creation for so short a space of time, and Thor reminded himself again to give him thanks to Skanda and the other villagers of Volkang, and to send word to Freya in the Vanir capital of Sessrumnir of his continued friendship and gratitude. After what he had learned, it would not be wise to offend her. 

They came to a small rise looking over the encampment, and paused. “Five thousand Asgardians,” Loki murmured, his eyes sweeping over the people. “A few nobles already longing for better days, a few old people waiting impatiently for their ends. And the rest? Can we really do this, brother? Bring them all to Earth?”

“We have to bring them somewhere. As fine and comfortable a camp as this is, it’s still a refugee camp.”

“I know, but really, _Earth_... it’s such a primitive place.”

“I’ve spent the last few years on Earth, Loki, I think I know it a little better than you have. The humans, they’re not that bad.”

“They’re helpless and ridiculous,” said Loki flatly, “as you know damned well.”

“Well, yes, but I’m still fond of them.”

Loki rolled his eyes with tolerant amusement.“You are a sentimental fool,”

“I’m not the one looking to adopt his dead lover’s children,” Thor retorted in kind. Loki stiffened, but when Thor would have apologized, he waved it off. 

“Let’s just find them.”

Precisely how Loki expected to find two very young adults in a sea of faces when he had set eyes on neither of them for centuries, Thor did not ask. There were certain aspects of life – very few in number, true, but they did exist – in which Thor had long since learned to let his brother take the lead, and treasure hunts were one of them. Loki had always had a nose for valuables, and for where to find marvelous things in unlikely places.

They walked among the displaced for a time, watching the progress of the camp and the people as they settled. Many were preparing for the memorial ceremony in the village that evening, though they seemed unsure of when it would be – the Vanir sun had a tendency to hover on the horizon in the summer months. Thor would have to set Heimdall to sound the call, when it was time. 

And it amused him to see the way the children stopped and tried to bow to him, but it made him grin like a fool to see how little of the same courtly respect they accorded to his brother. Not that they were _dis_ respectful to Loki, but there was a sense of wary, determined playfulness in the way they followed behind him, trying to sneak up on the trickster prince without being noticed. 

“You have an entourage,” Thor muttered out of the side of his mouth, determinedly not turning to look at the mob of small persons trailing them. 

“I told you I’d have legions of loyal subjects one day.” Loki glanced sideways at Thor. “Keep walking and don’t react.” And then he promptly winked out of sight.

The crowd of children following them gasped in astonishment. 

“He did it! He disappeared!”

“I told you he would!”

“I thought you were _jesting_...”

Thor had to bite his lip very hard, but he badly wanted to throw his head back and laugh until he was weary. “It is _good_ to have you back, Loki,” he chuckled, as they rounded a cluster of tents and passed out of the reach of the trickster’s fans.

His good cheer faded when Loki reappeared, wan and perspiring. “Loki?”

“Okay, that... may have been a mistake.” He stumbled forward a step or two, but glared when Thor tried to steady him with a hand under his arm. “Drained, not dead, remember?” He shook Thor off, straightening his jacket and smoothing his hair as though the touch of Thor’s hand had rendered his appearance less than perfect. “I think they’re this way.”

“How do you even know?”

Loki held up his hand, and for the first time, Thor noticed a small golden glow in his palm. “A seeking spell. Loki, you should not be spending your strength like this. We’ve only been here for half a day, you can’t possibly be recovered. Especially not after that stunt with the kids—”

“I’m not putting anymore effort into this than I do into making a simulacra.” He stared into the glow, watching it twist and shape itself into the direction he needed to go. “I may not be their father but I was certainly present for their conceptions. That is a link which seidr does not forget. And nor shall I,” he added darkly.

The sudden ominousness of his demeanor put Thor on guard. “Loki? What are you not telling me?”

Loki snorted. “A great many things, brother. As always. But in this case, I fear you are over-reaching.”

“You do not have some other purpose behind wanting to find this pair of siblings?”

“...You know, on very cosmically rare occasions, I am moved to do something altruistic. And they are the children of people I cared about. ...People I loved. Do you still think so little of me that you feel I am incapable of any amount of compassion?”

Thor folded his arms and stared at his brother balefully. “Don’t try to turn this back around on me. That trick won’t work on me anymore.”

“Damn it, I really _am_ becoming predictable.” 

“I am not doubting your compassion, brother. Only asking if there is something else happening here.” 

Loki doused the seeking spell and pulled Thor off the path, away from the ears of curious bystanders. “Harald died... because of me.”

“Loki, no, Harald died because we were at _war_.”

“A war that I could have stopped!” Loki snapped. “I should have been able to stop Lorelei, before she—” 

“Before she what? Before she enslaved half the Einjerhar with her magic and set out to conquer the Nine Realms?” Thor caught his arm with half a mind to shake his idiot brother. “Loki, we were still practically boys. We’d only just passed our majority – you hadn’t come into your full powers yet!”

“I had enough power to resist her! You fell under her sway, and poor bloody Haldor was completely lost, but me? I’d been her _lover_ , and yet nothing she did could enthrall me enough to become her pet the way he did. But I couldn’t _do_ anything with it.” Loki twisted out of Thor’s grip with a look of such self-loathing that Thor was appalled. “Enough power to save myself, not enough to save anyone else.” He huffed out a bitter laugh. “Maybe Gudrun was right, all those years ago. Maybe I just didn’t _want_ to save him enough.”

“Loki...”

Loki dropped his head into his hands for a moment, then scrubbed his palms over his face and rubbed his temples. “Sorry,” he said brusquely. “Sorry, it’s... I should have stayed away. The remembrance for the Warriors Three, I shouldn’t have gone. I had no business being there and... it brought too much back.”

Thor badly wanted to go to his brother, to pull him against his chest and stroke his hair as he had when they were very tiny, when Loki would climb into his bed after having nightmares. But his instincts told him that it would be a very bad idea to try and hug Loki right now. In the mood he was in, he wouldn’t hesitate to stab Thor in return for his kindness. 

Not that he typically needed much provocation to stab Thor. 

“Then we will let the matter drop,” he said instead, and smiled sadly at Loki’s surprise. “You feel you have a debt to repay. So. Let us go and make reparations. Lead on.” 

When Loki turned to revive the seeking spell, Thor pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, to combat the tears. 

The soft persistent glow of the spell led them at last to a pair of small blue tents pitched at right angles, with their entries forming a sort of square courtyard around a newly-dug firepit. A few paces away, a very young man of perhaps six centuries sat on an upturned log. His hair was blond shading into brown, for a moment, Thor thought they must be at the wrong dwelling, for the youth’s clothes looked far too fine for the son of a soldier. He had a hatchet in his hand, and was calmly splitting another log into kindling. He looked up at their approach and then dropped the hatched and rose quickly. “M-my lords,” he said, bowing with surprising grace. “This is an honor, I...” He trailed off, studying Loki’s face. “I’m sorry, I...”

“It’s all right,” Thor smiled. “Before all of this, it was rare to see any of the royal family up close. We’re used to the staring.”

“It’s not that, Thor,” said Loki quietly. He let his hands hang empty at his side, where the boy could see them; a gesture of true intent on the part of the trickster prince. “Hello, Thialfi. I don’t suppose you remember me? I was a friend of your parents.”

“I do,” the youth said slowly, his blue eyes gone wide in recognition. “Loki... you’re Loki.”

“The one and only,” replied the prince, with a wry smile. “Your sister... is she here?”

There was movement from inside one of the tents, and a very young woman emerged. “Thialfi? You should have told me we had... visitors...” Her eyes, the same shade of blue as the boy’s, darted from Thor to Loki to her brother, and then fixed on Loki. Her hands flew to her mouth, and she stared in amazement. 

Loki looked at the girl with a soft expression that Thor had not seen in centuries. “Hello, Lyka,” he said, his voice indescribably gentle. 

Lyka Haraldsdottir approached him with a wary restraint that reminded Thor of the deer that used to roam in Asgard’s forests. Clearly, she recalled the unfortunate circumstances of Loki’s last encounter with her family. “My lord,” she greeted him with caution, offering him a deep formal curtsey that would have done a court lady proud.

But Loki was having none of it. “My sweet golden child,” he started, stooping and raising her to her feet. And then he fell silent, gazing at her, seeing her father and her mother and, for a few seconds, perhaps, seeing the young man he had once been in their arms. After a moment, he clasped her hands in his. “Look at you,” he murmured huskily. “You are... Lyka, I’m sorry I never came back. I wanted to.” 

Her smile was sudden, tremulous and bright. “I know, Prince.”

“Just Loki will do, thank you.”

Gingerly she touched the leather of his tunic, stroking the diagonal panels as though uncertain of his realness. “I... are you real? We were told that you had died.”

“I know.”

“Twice.”

“He’s been getting into bad habits,” said Thor dryly. 

Lyka pressed her lips together, and then suddenly she threw her arms around Loki’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Oh, uncle,” she whispered, “I have missed you.”


	12. To Those Who Stole Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things, and people, continue to break under the weight of grief and secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title and the final ten lines or so were supposed to show up eight chapters ago. Then things kept happening.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

They stayed in that embrace, the trickster prince and the daughter of his heart, for some moments, and Thor tried very hard not to notice the tears trickling down Loki’s cheeks, or the odd wetness in his own eye. When Thialfi edged forward, perhaps to comfort his sister, Loki did not say a word, but held out an arm for the boy to join them, and Thor suddenly discovered how interesting the Vanir sky at false dusk was, for he stared up and studied it until his brother and the two youths reluctantly parted.

Mostly parted, Thor saw, because Loki’s right hand was on Thialfi’s shoulder and the left was on Lyka’s cheek. “I wasn’t entirely sure either of you would remember me,” Loki was saying, with a kind of bewildered delight. “Let alone...” He bit his lip and stepped back a pace, his expression closing off. “Well, I worried you might hold a grudge. Over what your mother said when Harald... when your father died.”

Sister and brother traded a glance of silent communion, one that Thor recognized with a tinge of nostalgia. He and Loki had once been that close, to be able to deduce one another’s thoughts with merely a look across a rowdy table or a crowded battlefield. But it had been a long time, a very long time, since he had been able to intuit any of Loki’s intentions. Only his actions were predictable, and now that Loki _knew_ that Thor usually knew, he would change his tactics.

Which was all to the good; Loki had been in a holding pattern for too long. He needed to make a change, and he had. They were finding a new way to be brothers in the wake of Asgard’s fall, but it was not the same, could not be the same. But the closeness... Thor missed that.

“She regretted her words to you, Uncle,” said Lyka softly. “Until the day she died.”

Loki’s face did not change, but Thor knew the moment the shock of grief hit him. It was in the abrupt tightening of his muscles, the increased pallor of his cheeks, the way his skin and eyes suddenly looked, somehow, as though they were made of glass and could break at any moment. “When?”

“Centuries ago,” said Thialfi quietly, watching Loki’s face with a wariness that was not born of fear or awe but almost of... no, Thor could not place it. But there was care there. “Not long after Father was killed. A few decades.” Loki’s eyes slid closed in pain. “She had a wound of the soul from his death that never healed, and her words to you only served to make it worse.”

“Over five hundred years, she’s been gone. And I never knew...”

Thor stepped closer to his brother, not touching him, but giving him the strength of his presence. “And you two were alone all that time?” he asked.

“No, my lord.” Lyka looked up at Thor and for the first time seemed to realize that, oh, he was the _king_. “Forgive me, Your Majesty—”

“Please. If you’re going to claim my brother as an uncle, there’s no need for formalities.”

“Of course, I...” She stopped and rubbed her forehead. “I think this is going to take a while.”

Thialfi looked from the royals to his sister, and found more logs for them all to sit on, and tidied the kindling he had been splitting while Lyka explained what had happened to them since Loki had been forced out of their lives, how their mother had fallen into a such deep depression following their father’s death in battle that she had been unable to work or care for them, how she had then become ill, and worn down by grief, had lacked the strength to fight, and how after her death, Lyka and her brother had been send to a farm far away from the city, and been cared for and educated. Loki held her hand the whole time.

When she finished, Thor and Loki were wearing almost identical frowns. Something about the story seemed... off. “But who sent you to this farm?”

“I... don’t know.”

“Who paid for the expenses to feed and clothe and teach you? And for what purpose?”

The boy shook his head. “I’m sorry, we do not know.”

“You must know _something_.”

“Your Majesty—”

Thor held up a hand. “None of that, lad, please.”

Thialfi glanced nervously at his sister. “I... sir, these are difficult questions for us. We’ve spent most of our lives being told never to ask, or to answer, any questions about our upbringing.”

Lyka nodded. “All we know for certain is that we were well taken care of.”

“And far beyond your station, too,” Loki said thoughtfully, taking Lyka’s hand again, this time to run a finger over the embroidery at her cuff and to feel the weave of the fabric. “Your garments are a little worse for wear from the trip, but this is not fabric that an Einherjar’s child would normally wear. This is fit for the king’s court.” He nodded at the boy’s tunic as well. “Whoever was seeing to you was quite literally prepared to pay a king’s ransom for the privilege.”

“We never knew who or why. Sigyn came to see us, sometimes—” Lyka broke off suddenly. “Forgive me, we were told after she left that her name was never to be spoken...”

Loki’s smile was strained. “It’s all right. I’ve been speaking of her myself quite a lot, lately.”

“Well... sometimes when she came, she would bring an older woman with her, who had kind eyes and a sweet voice. She never told us her name. And she did not come as often as Sigyn did. After Sigyn went away, she barely came at all. But she sometimes sent us books. And then, after you... fell,” Lyka said, with some difficulty, “from the Bifrost, she came with people in cloaks one night, and took us away from the farm. She brought Thialfi and me into the city and lodged us in fine quarters there, with servants and every luxury we could wish, but—”

“But we never found out why,” the boy broke it. “It was all so mysterious!”

“And then after we came to live in the city, we never saw her again.”

Loki and Thor traded a confused glance. “Do you remember anything else about this woman?” Loki asked. “Or about the books?”

“I was able to save some of those, before we fled Asgard.” Lyka ducked briefly into her small tent to retrieve them.

Thor frowned when he saw the books, feeling a tickle of remembrance somewhere in his early memories. But Loki made a small broken noise in the back of his throat and reached for the tomes with almost trembling hands. “Loki? Do you know these books?”

“Yes...” It was a moment before he could speak, as he handled the books almost fearfully. “Kvasir’s ‘Silver Star’, the legendary skald Bragi’s epic ‘Wish-Son’, ‘Ithunn’s Tales’... Thor, these were Mother’s.”

“...It can’t be.”

“They _are_. They’ve got the mark of the royal library in them. And look!” Loki flipped through the well-thumbed volume of ‘Ithunn’s Tales’ and stopped halfway through. “Look, there’s where you scribbled about how you could’ve slain the dragon in ten seconds instead of ten days.”

“I always wondered about that,” Thialfi said with a grin.

“I remember... we were five,” Thor murmured, touching the pages reverently, his fingers lingering on the subtly moving illustrations as though he could draw a fragment of his mother’s spirit from the old legends and songs Frigga had sung to them when they were still small enough to share a room.

“So, the lady… was really the queen,” said Lyka slowly.

Loki set the books down, still badly shaken by the revelation. “But... why? Why would she and Sigyn have conspired to hide you from me?” His eyes flickered to Thor. “Why would _Mother_...?”

There was such betrayal in his voice, and Thor had no answer for him.

Lyka hesitated. “Could... could the queen have been wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling a little at the presumption. “She was the one who said I was the daughter of Harald Jorvikson, but I-I know you always doubted that. And you were still close with my parents when Thialfi was born...”

Loki hid it quickly, hopefully too quickly for the youths to notice, but Thor saw it, the naked expression of longing that passed over his face at the fleeting thought that these two beautiful children – and truly, in spite of their age, they _were_ still practically children, with their isolated upbringing – might somehow be his. And his heart broke for his brother, and then shattered entirely as Loki slowly shook his head.

“I would be... the gladdest man in the Nine Realms to be able to say that you and your brother are of my getting. But...” Loki held out his hands, which the boy and girl took without hesitation. Thor held his breath... but there was no change. “You’re not. You,” Loki said to Thialfi, “look exactly like your father. And you, Lyka...” He touched her cheek gently. “You’ve got his eyes.”

Abruptly, Thor realized he had to get away. He had to leave Loki with his foster-children – which was what they _were_ , ‘wards of the crown’ be damned – and get away as quickly as possible, before the roar of rage and anguish building inside him found its way out.

As he turned to leave, to give them privacy for a proper reunion, he caught a glimpse over his shoulder of his brother pulling the siblings close and wrapping them in his arms.

He strode away quickly, skirting the backs of the tents and cutting through and around the edge of the Field of Bones to reach the tree-line. He heard the laughter of children, smelled the wood fires and the makeshift evening meals beginning to cook, and he felt cold. All his happiness for his brother bled away, and he had to keep his hands balled into fists at his sides. There was an outcropping of large rocks there, just beyond the camp, that Korg had mentioned as being in the way, somehow, and he made for that. The new scope of his powers was _begging_ to be unleashed, and he didn't want to blow anything up or set something important on fire. Yet.

It was all lies. Their entire lives had been nothing but lies, from one end to the other, from the people who were supposed to protect them the most. And knowing Odin had concealed so much horror was bad enough, but _Frigga_ , as well? She had been much younger than Odin, so she could not have been Hela’s mother, but she still had to have _known_ about her husband’s firstborn. Odin’s executioner. And yet she had lied. She had known about Loki from the beginning, loved and protected him and favored him (oh yes, favored him, as Odin had favored Thor, and both brothers had known and felt and _resented_ , even without being able to give voice to it), and yet she had lied to him. And now this new revelation about the Haraldsborns, children who were not Loki’s but who had been kept from him. A lie of omission by Loki’s mother _and_ his now-estranged wife. Why? Why had any of it been necessary?

“To protect you from the truth.”

Thor turned suddenly, ready for a confrontation, but his father’s voice was only in his mind, a fragment of memory from some half-a-dozen vaguely-remembered conversations.

‘Open communication was never our family’s strong suit,’ Loki had said on Sakaar. And, well... he wasn’t wrong.

Thor’s dark mood preceded him through the encampment, and the people who parted for him this time did so in great haste. His eye glowered. He could feel that he looked like Odin in this state of mind, and he hated that he knew.

As soon as he cleared the last of the tents, he broke into a run, and then launched himself at the first available boulder, bellowing. The lightning coursed from his fist and he slammed down hard on the rock, shattering it into thousands of viciously sharp little fragments.

* * *

Alone in her tent, Valkyrie bathed in preparation for the memorial. It had taken a while to heat the water, but all she needed was a pitcher. It had been a very, _very_ long time since she had bothered to ritually bathe herself... not since before the Fall. She had never worked up the courage to properly mourn her sisters-in-arms, and not only because such cleansing needed to be done in the company of the Valkyrior to be done properly. But there were none left.

As she washed herself limb by limb, each patch of skin in turn, and mindlessly recited the old words of purification, her thoughts wandered. The last time she had done this had been just before the final battle with Hela, and she and Thrud had been alone together in their chambers. Valkyrie closed her eyes and tried to remember the touch of her strong, callused, gentle hands... but all she could recall were Loki’s hands. Equally strong, not quite as callused, and not gentle. She had never let him be gentle with her. But Thrud’s hands were gone.

Tears stung Valkyrie’s eyes as she scrubbed the rough sponge over her skin. She had spent centuries avoiding thinking of Thrud and her fallen sisters, found the best place in the universe to drink and forget, and yet now that she _wanted_ to remember Thrud, all she could think of was fucking Loki Odinson. Laufreyson. Whatever. Fucking Loki.

She wanted to _not_ think of Loki, just for five minutes, but she couldn’t. He’d been in her mind since that first knife fight and now he was lodged there, like a splinter under her fingernail. Part of the reason she’d taken him to her bed was in the hope that enough sex would wash away her compulsion for him. So far, it hadn’t worked. He swore that he had not altered her mind or bespelled her in any way, and she believed him, but that only made the situation more frustrating.

For a thousand years, she hadn’t needed anyone. But there were moments when she couldn’t concentrate on training or ship repair because she was too busy aching for some lying, cheating, traitorous fake-heroic Asgardian prince.

And wasn’t that why? They were both fakes. Both liars and cheaters. Both alone in the crowd and happy to be there... even if they wondered what it was like, sometimes, on the inside.

And so her thoughts kept going, in tighter and tighter circles, until when Loki came into her tent as though he owned the place, entirely aware that she was naked and wet and not at all caring, full of his own conflicted emotions about his foster children and his mother and his wife, she was already too ground to care, as though she had been scraped against a sharpening stone for too long.

“Hey, yeah, would you mind shutting up, please?” The heaviness of the abrupt silence was oppressive. “Not in the mood to hear all of this.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. You’ve lost a foster son yourself.”

Which was yet another memory Valkyrie hadn’t wanted to examine that day. Nari, Inge’s small son, who had called her ‘Mom’. Sweet blond little Nari, with his angel’s smile, pickpocket’s hands, and his ability to worm his way into hearts and wallets with nothing more than a song... She slammed the door on that train of thought. “Do you mind? I really don’t need your piss-poor attempts at ‘consideration’ right now.”

Loki set his helm down on the center table. “It’s called perceptive exploitation of weakness, I’ll have you know.” Then, “Do you want me to help with your back?”

“This is supposed to be a women-only affair. You should leave.”

“Oh, well, in _that_ case...” She frowned to feel the currents in the tent shift and change. When she looked over her shoulder, there was a woman standing where Loki had been. Same height, same general build, same clothes. Longer hair, but unmistakable eyes and smirk. “I’d been saving this for when you got bored of having a man in your bed all the time, but since only a woman can ritually cleanse a Valkyrie...”

“Aren’t you supposed to be out of magic? And you can’t just pretend, that’s not how it works.”

“This isn’t pretending,” said Loki, with a degree of force Valkyrie hadn’t expected. “It’s me. Just depends on the day.”

“...Okay. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“You’re hardly the first.” Her voice was an octave lower than before but the accent and cadence were the same.

Oh, but this was not helping Valkyrie’s confused libido.

“Look, I’m... not really feeling like myself right now. I shouldn’t have gone to the earlier ceremony.”

Loki nodded, thinking that she understood. “I felt the same. It was... harder than I’d expected. You don’t have to go tonight, you know. I can make up some excuse for Thor. After all, it’s not as if you knew any of them.”

“Didn’t I?” Valkyrie squeezed the sponge and watched the water trickle down the brown skin of her arm. “I was only gone for a thousand years. There were absolutely still people on Asgard I knew... people who would have remembered me.”

“But did you remember them?” she murmured, taking the sponge from her hand. “Do you remember their names? Or did you do your best to forget all of them, as you forgot your own?” She brushed the damp sponge lightly down Valkyrie’s spine, making her shiver, and then followed it with the barest ghosting of her lips, drawing out a moan.

“Stop it,” Valkyrie snapped, stepping away from her hands. “And change back. I don’t know you when you’re a woman.”

“As you wish.” Was that hurt that she heard in his voice, covered by the little vocal smirk that always seemed to be there?

“I _do_ need to be there.” Valkyrie grabbed the towel from the back of the chair and scrubbed herself dry. “I’ve got more dead than you’ve had lovers, from before Hela and after. And I’ve never been able to mourn for any of them.” She pulled her scrapper’s tabard over her head, settling it over her hips, and reached for the comb.

Which was no longer there.

“Let me,” Loki said, moving into her space again and threading his hands through her hair. He loosened the tie that had kept the long strands out of her face while she washed. The desire to kick him flashed reflexively through Valkyrie’s mind, but... his hands felt nice. He worked his fingers through the tangles first, before plying the comb, working his way slowly up towards her scalp.

Valkyrie hummed in the back of her throat. “It has been... god, I can’t even remember how long it’s been since someone combed my hair for me. You do this often?”

“Surprisingly often, actually. Though it’s been a few years... do you want to wear it loose or braided?”

“...You braid your lovers’ hair.”

She _heard_ him roll his eyes. “I had a wife for a century and a half, you know.”

“Right. Uh... fine, braided.” And she tried not to shiver as his hands tucked and twisted her hair into a neat, tight rope. “Why don’t you ever do anything to your hair?”

“I do wash it, you know. It’s not my fault it gets greasy so quickly.”

“Not commenting on your hygiene habits, Lackey. But you’re a complete dandy in every other way, and I have literally never known an Asgardian noble who didn’t spend an hour a day preening in front of a mirror – or two, in your case – so why don’t you have braids or ribbons or something?”

He tied the bottom of the braid tightly and let her go. “I used to. When I was younger. I did what all idiots do.” She turned as he gestured to the side of his head. “Love locks, of course. For Harald. And then for Sigyn.”

“...Right, right.” Not wanting to continue the conversation, Valkyrie grabbed her cape and attached it to her tabard. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

She hurried from the tent without waiting for him, worried that he would ask about the people she might have worn love locks for. “Let’s just get this over with and get to the drinking and the singing. With any luck, I’ll pass out quick and not end up fighting anyone.”

* * *

At first, the villagers of Volkang held themselves apart from the assembled Aesir and their various alien companions, something that Thor had never seen them do before. In all the times he had visited the village with Hogun and the Warriors Three and whatever Einherjar had been traveling with them, there had always been a happy comingling of peoples. This voluntary segregation, though... Everything that Freya and Valkyrie had said about the long-ago war... was that common knowledge on Vanaheim, where on Asgard, it had been tossed aside and forgotten centuries ago? And now that Asgard was gone, were all those centuries of repressed resentment about to come to the fore?

If they were, he was grateful for the solemnity that held over the memorial ceremony. At least his presence, and Headwoman Skanda’s, and the prominent place of Hogun’s widow Breda near the front of the crowd, sent a message that, for tonight, they were still one people, united in grief. His eye swept over the head, seeking out familiar faces... but he recognized very few. Most everyone were plain common people from outside the main city center. The only people he knew were the members of his makeshift ‘court’, dressed in the finest clothes they had left: Loki, Heimdall, Valkyrie, and now Sif, who all stood near him, and who were waiting expectantly for him to begin.

Thor took a deep breath to steady himself. “Asgard, we stand here today to sing your praises. May your people take their places in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave never die...” He stopped short of completing the usual prayer, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing with his own words. “I will not say, ‘we will not mourn’ We have lost too much not to mourn, for those who have died, both gloriously and not. We have all lost. Fathers.” He glanced at Loki, whose lips were pressed too tightly together. “Mothers. Husbands and wives. Children. Elders. Friends. A home. A hist... a history.”

The sour taste of bile rose in the king’s throat. But he pushed on. “Asgard, we are wounded. We are beaten. And tonight, we have to lick our wounds. There is no shame in that. But let us remember our loved ones with honor. We will sing and drink to them. And tomorrow, when the sun rises, we will begin again.”

He started to raise his horn of mead high above his head, to proclaim the first toast, but to his surprise, Loki beat him to it. “To Asgard!” he cried, his voice carrying far over the assembly and into the night.

“To Asgard!” The responding roar made Thor rock on his feet and brought such a lump into his throat that for a moment, he could not breathe.

“To Asgard,” he said quietly, with a look of gratitude for Loki as everyone drank.

Sif hesitated, and then raised her horn again. “To the Allfather!” she cried. “May he feast well with his queen by his side in the bright halls of Valhalla!”

The Vanir and Aesir soberly raised the drinking vessels and their voices, and after a fraction of a section, the king, prince, and Valkyrie did the same. “To the Allfather!”

Thor shot an unreadable look at his brother, and then drank. He was king, after all, no matter how much he felt as though he would rather choke before drinking to Odin ever again.

Almost in unison, Loki and Valkyrie poured out their horns on the grass.

In an instant, Sif had her sword drawn and swinging at Loki with a great cry, but before he could fully move to defend himself, Valkyrie was there, blocking Sif’s blow with her crossed daggers, resulting in a crashing of steel that rang through the trees. “You try to harm him,” said Valkyrie quietly, “you die.” And with a single twist, she wrenched Sif’s sword from her grasp and flung it across the grass.

“He dishonors the Allfather’s memory,” Sif growled, “as do you, stranger.”

Valkyrie’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and but for Loki’s hands on her biceps, pulling her back, she might have done Sif an injury. “Not now, Brun,” Loki advised. “The Lady Sif and I know each other of old. This is nothing more than a disagreement between friends.”

“Liesmith,” Sif spat. “You’re no friend of mine.”

“Sif,” said Thor sternly, with a tone of command that he knew she would obey. “Leave them be.”

Her eyes burned with hatred, but she withdrew. “As the king commands.”


	13. Beautiful Disasters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor tries to placate Sif, with little success. Loki gets the tar beaten out of him (again). Valkyrie goes swimming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to [Lynds](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds) for today's chapter title!
> 
> Now with incredible (and slightly NSFW) artwork by [portraitoftheoddity](https://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/170018248289/youve-still-got-me-tied-you-know-he-whispered). Thank you, Lena!!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki didn’t take his eyes off of Sif, or his hands off of Valkyrie. “I think we should go,” he said shortly. He jerked Valkyrie back against his chest and promptly vanished, leaving an empty space where the two had been.

Thor growled and motioned to Heimdall. “Can you take over the ceremony?” At Heimdall’s nod, Thor grabbed Sif by the arm and by sheer force of strength, hauled her away from the village center.

“I can _walk_ ,” she snapped, trying and failing to shake him off. When that didn’t work, Sif took a page out of the traitor’s book: she dropped. The sudden shift in her center of gravity pulled Thor off-balance, allowing Sif to kick and swipe his legs out from under him.

Thor rolled quickly onto his back, but not quickly enough: Sif planted her boot in the center of his chest, with a look in her eye that said what she wanted was to put her sword in its place, king or no. “Have you gone mad?” she hissed. “How could you let him insult the Allfather’s memory like that?”

“Because he had cause!” Thor said angrily. He pushed her boot away and stood, hands balled into fists at his sides. “There is so much you don’t yet know—”

“That much is clear. How much have you not yet told me, Thor? Or is this to be the new Asgard? Secrets upon secrets?”

“No, Sif, that is the old Asgard. I wish Loki had chosen some other way to make his feelings known, but I can’t fault him, or the Val—or Brun.”

Sif’s eyes narrowed. “What dark magic has he cast over you, to make you take his side in this way, over your own father?”

“He fought to save our people! I can’t begrudge him his anger over what he suffered at Odin’s hands – at Asgard’s hands!”

“And what of the suffering of others at _his_ hands? You know what he has done! Or has one honorable deed wiped away the blood of the humans he caused to be slaughtered?”

It did not escape Thor’s notice that she didn’t mention in the same breath the Frost Giants that Loki had killed. “I haven’t forgotten anything that he’s done. But I have put it behind me, Sif. I have no other choice. We are so few in number now. And Loki is loyal. To our people, if not to me.”

“For the moment.”

“‘The moment’ is all we’ve got left.”

“...You cannot save him, Thor. You cannot trust him. He will always be a trickster, a liar, an opportunist... you will never be able to turn your back on him.”

“Saving him is the last thing on my mind. If means keeping my brother by my side, I will forgive almost anything, and if it means Asgard has a hope of surviving, I will trust him to the ends of Yggdrasil. And strange as it seems, that trust seems to be keeping Loki in check. At least, so far. But I’ll take it.”

* * *

There was a moment of madness, where everything inside and out was mixed-up and scary and beautiful, and then Valkyrie stumbled sharply and fell onto soft grass.

“What did – Lackey, what the fuck did you do?!”

“Teleported us away from the village. Oww...”

“How far? Where are we?” She got her feet under her in a defensive stance and scanned their surroundings, dagger in hand, but all she saw was a moonlight forest clearing, ringed with trees, and the trees were calm and quiet.

“About a mile... uh, south-east? Give me a minute, I think I’m going to throw up.” He managed to push himself into a kneeling position and then bowed over with his forehead on the ground. “Oh, Norns, that was a mistake... shit... my ribs feel like some old woman’s tangled knitting.”

“Good, you fucking deserved it. What in hell possessed you to stop me?” Struggling to breathe, he looked at her reproachfully from behind a heavy curtain of tousled black hair. Valkyrie gritted her teeth. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to step between two women about to kill each other?”

“No, she told me that cheaters live.” Taking great care, he stood up, dusting off his clothes. “Most important lesson I’ve ever learned.”

“Too bad I left Asgard before I got to know Odin’s wife. She sounds like she was incredible. I would’ve liked to have known her.”

“She taught me everything I know,” said Loki proudly.

“Yeah? Well, that’s ironic.”

“Why?”

“Because honestly, if you hadn’t told me you were adopted, I never would have known.”

“Why? Don’t tell me Thor and I look _that_ much alike.”

“No... Because sometimes you remind me too damned much of Odin.”

His face went dark. “Look, Brunnhilde,” he started, grabbing her arm.

Something exploded behind her eyes, something white-hot and pissed off, and she spun round and slammed her fist into his jaw so hard he flew twenty feet back into a fir tree, cracking its trunk with a snap like bone breaking.

“You don’t get to call me that!” she shouted, storming over and driving her boot into his ribs when he tried to rise. “Not you!” She dropped to her knees and flipped him over, straddling him, kneeling on his biceps and punching, over and over. “You dragged all of this out into the open!” There were tears blinding her now, and an animal sound of pain clawing its way out of her chest. “I was— I... I worked so damned hard at _forgetting_!”

Her rage and grief were so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that it took her several moments to realize that he wasn’t even trying to fight back. Because he couldn’t.

Horrified, she rolled off him quickly to check his breathing. “Loki,” she said softly, touching his face. The skin was unbroken save for a scrape on his cheek from her gauntlet, but his eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. Valkyrie swallowed her panic and gripped his chin. “Loki. Loki!”

“Stop... shouting. Not deaf.”

She went limp with relief. “You could’ve at least _tried_ to defend yourself.”

“I could’ve. But I earned that pummeling. For the last fight.”

“...It was a dirty fucking trick, you know.”

His mouth widened in a brief, breathless grin. “Cheater, remember? It’s a last-ditch maneuver, and I was losing.”

“You still lost.”

He wheezed out a sound that was trying to be a laugh. “Well, I do... admire a woman who can... wipe the floor with me.”

Her lips twitched. “Loki, I could have killed you just now.”

The wheezing chuckle again. “You wouldn’t think it, but I’m actually doing much better. Just being planet-side again has helped. And Thor gave me a nice jolt... was it really only yesterday?” His head thudded back on the ground. “Hell of a day.”

“Is there anything I should do?”

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine, just... let me lie here for a few minutes.”

Valkyrie looked down at him for a second or two, then stretched out on her stomach on the grass beside him, pillowing her head on her arms. The tears kept falling, but they were silent now.

For a long time, they lay like that in the clearing, the moonlight a cool break in the warm summer night, while Valkyrie cried and watched Loki breathe steadily. The rise and fall of his chest was strangely comforting. She had never seen it before, she realized. For all the sex they’d had, they had never once actually slept the night together.

The ground below her felt quietly alive, and watching Loki’s fingers digging lightly into the soil, it was clear he sensed the same thing. There was a gentle glow of seidr, twining luminous strands of gold and silver, clinging to his fingers and creeping up his hands like tendrils of ivy.

“Does that... feel nice?”

“Mhmm.”

Valkyrie uncurled one arm from beneath her head and snaked it down between them, so that she could just brush her fingertips against the side of his hand.

“Nice,” he murmured drowsily.

She had to agree... it was nice, if a little visually jarring. She’d seen seidr before, a hundred thousand times during her youth on Asgard, but it had all been big and flashy and terrifying, the sort of magic that got used in battle. And later, with Inge, she’d seen practical spells, and of course, she’d experienced being part of an energy transfer, but that had never been a visual thing. She couldn’t ever remember seeing it at its most basic, a sorcerer simply absorbing the power of the land. It was an oddly ethereal thing to associate with Loki... and strangely beautiful.

He started to move, so Valkyrie quickly pulled her hand away and rolled over to sit with one knee drawn up to her chest, watching as he got his bearings back. He pushed himself upright, brushing the grains of soil from his fingers, then he twisted his legs around to sit in front of her, mimicking her position.

Slowly, so that she could see his movements and counter them if she wished, Loki lifted a hand and laid his palm lightly on her forehead. “I can rebury the memories, if you truly want to forget again. I can push them back under the hazy wall of time and alcohol that you worked so hard to build, and I’ll make the wall stronger. You’ll never have to think about any of it again.”

“You...” It was the closest thing he would ever to an apology he would ever give her, and it was a surprisingly eloquent one. “Bastard, you have no idea how tempting that is.”

“Don’t I?” Loki smiled thinly. “I have memories of my own that I would prefer to bury. But this trick doesn’t work on me. Only on others.” His thumb moved slightly, light strokes over the skin of her forehead. “So?”

“...No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t change what happened. I can’t change the memories, and I’m tired of fighting them, and... I don’t know, maybe I tried so hard to bury all the awful things that I lost some good things along the way.”

Loki nodded and started to draw his hand away, but Valkyrie caught it halfway back to his body and held it tightly. He stared at her with wide, startled eyes, and then cleared his throat. “I, uh... don’t really want to go back just yet. You?”

“Not really... you have any better ideas?” she asked, fully expecting him to suggest some sort of sexual diversion and ready to accept. Forgetting her problems in the afterglow of a good hard fuck was probably the next best thing to letting Loki bury her traumas so deeply not even she could ever find them again.

“Something springs to mind...” He turned his hand to loosen her grip on his wrist, and then grasped her fingers in his own, nimble, warm, and strong. “Come with me.”

He led her through the woods with an ease that the moonlight and good night vision didn’t entirely account for. “How do you know where we’re going?”

“I always need to know where I am, in any given plane or realm. Call it a compulsion. And I know the area around Volkang very well. We used to visit a lot, in the past, Thor and I, when Hogun’s children were small.”

“So where are we going?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, his grin flashing in the shadows. “Not far.”

She heard their destination before she saw it. “You’re kidding.”

“What? Not up for a moonlight swim?”

That damned grin... it was infectious. And there was something oddly... boyish about Loki, suddenly? Almost... charming?

_What the hell am I going on about?_ Valkyrie thought, rolling her eyes at herself as they came out of the woods and onto the banks of a small river, with a deep pool at one end, fed by a lively little waterfall. “Let me guess: you used to bring all the Vanir maidens here.”

“Don’t preach, Valkyrie, I remember you having to kick a girlfriend out of your apartment on Sakaar before you could tie me up properly.”

“...Okay, I’ll give you that. And this isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Loki threw back his head and laughed. “You have _no_ idea.”

Valkyrie thought of several responses to that, but said none of them, instead choosing to start stripping. Loki had it easy; he simply shifted out of his clothing, so that rather abruptly, he was standing naked on the grassy riverbank, with his lean arms crossed over his deeply-scarred chest. It looked less angry now, Valkyrie noted, and then gave her attention over to admiring his body. It wasn’t something she usually allowed herself to linger on. He looked like clean marble in the moonlight, and his green eyes gleamed.

“That story Thor told us, on Sakaar, about when you were kids and you turned into a snake and stabbed him. Was that true?”

“That I stabbed him? All the time. Wooden daggers at first, but as we got older—”

“The _snake_.”

“Oh, that! Yes, that was true enough.”

“You could turn yourself into things, even when you were little?”

“Oh, yes... Shape-shifting has always been a particular talent of mine. Why?” he smirked. “Do you want me to turn myself into a snake now? Or would you prefer I go back to being the woman who washed your back this afternoon?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you were going to turn into something that could beat me at a race.”

“You might be a better fighter than me, but I’m not half leg for nothing.”

“You don’t think I could beat you in the water?”

“Define ‘beat’ in this context. Are we talking sheer speed or—”

Valkyrie lunged at him, tackling them both into the water. It was deep, though not so deep at that spot that they couldn’t regain their footing quickly. He caught her hand and pulled her against him; she reached up and knotted her fist in his wet black hair and pulled him down for a hungry kiss, biting his lower lip until he whimpered.

He swept his hands up either side of her spine, making her shudder into him, and he chuckled. “You almost never let me touch you,” he murmured, his voice wicked and dark with promise. “You tie me up too quickly.”

“And you think this is how you get your payback?” she replied, teasing and daring, grinding her thigh against his cock.

“If you’ll let me.” He dipped his head to scrape his teeth along her jawbone, from her earlobe to her mouth. “You’ve still got me tied, you know,” he whispered against her lips, his voice its own kind of lethal magic.

[](https://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/170018248289/youve-still-got-me-tied-you-know-he-whispered)

As she yielded and molded against his tall frame, something changed. His hands gentled on her hips, and his lips became soft. His tongue explored her mouth slowly, and she hummed with pleasure under his touch.

Then her eyes snapped open at the same time as his. Their gazes locked, and then they stepped apart, breathing shallowly, hearts pounding. Loki’s thin cheeks were flushed.

In an instant, he turned and dove deep into the water. Valkyrie felt... exhilarated. And frightened.


	14. Family Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif finally gets some more truth, and a few punches as well. Valkyrie talks, and Loki continues being his friendly little shit self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norns, I hate writing fight scenes. Gonna go see the movie again to rest my brain. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“He _has_ enspelled you,” Sif said, shaking her head and keeping her eyes locked on Thor, even as she backed slowly away from him. His rank was the only think preventing her hand from straying to her sword hilt. “I am sure of it. If not with Asgardian magic, than with that of the Frost Giants.”

“How did—?”

“He is one of them, Thor! Odin admitted it after he died on Svartalfheim – I’m sorry, after he _supposedly_ died on Svartalfheim. He blinded you with his tricks on that day, how can you be sure he isn’t blinding you still?”

“Half-blinding,” Thor replied, but she did not appreciate the jest, punching his shoulder instead. “Ow! Have you always been this angry?”

“Give me one reason why I should not be angry. Just one! For two years I am left alone here, and then you show up with the trickster at one hand and his woman at the other—”

“Oh, no, do not let her hear you call her that...”

“—and what do you and Heimdall tell me? That Asgard has been destroyed! That Ragnarok has come and gone, that my friends and my family and my realm are _dead_ , and all while I was here hunting deer and attending diplomatic functions – and you think I have no right to be angry?” Sif’s dark eyes blazed in the torchlight with a flame that Thor had only ever seen on the battlefield. “And then, in the midst of our mourning, you let Loki dishonor the name of the Allfather in front of everyone.”

“It was his right. I was not going to force him to drink to Odin.”

“Odin was your father—”

Incensed, Thor smote the ground with his fist. “He was a butcher!” A crack of thunder rent the air, and the force of his blow threw Sif back, though she hit nothing harder than a nearby haystack.

She was on her feet at once, sword in her hand. “Your mind is poisoned, my friend, but I will free you. Or I will kill you trying, and so die for Asgard.”

“You really want to do this?” Thor growled, lightning beginning to dance over his skin. “You want your pound of flesh? Fine. Take it out of me.”

Sif charged at him, screaming like a berserker, and Thor knew that in spite of his own physical strength and powers, he’d only have one chance to do this. The god of thunder and the lady of war had always been evenly matched.

He caught her sword arm as it came down and twisted, not hard enough to dislocate but with more than enough force to wrench the weapon from her grasp and send it flying harmlessly away. The move earned him Sif’s shield to his face. He kicked at her shin, dropping her to one knee, and tore off the shield, flinging it into the darkness.

In retaliation, she hooked her arm around the back of his knee and jerked, dumping him onto his back. Then Sif had a knee in his throat and her fist hovering above his face. The torches around them made her seem like one of the fire-demons of Muspelheim. If he hadn’t been so pissed, Thor would have been in awe of her.

“You,” she ground out through clenched teeth, “left us.” The first blow crashed into Thor’s cheekbone. “You left Asgard to give your protection to another realm—” The second hit his chin. “—and left us to watch your father sink into grief and decadence.” The third smashed into his nose. “Over his wife.” The fourth one landed... somewhere, nothing was broken yet, but his face was starting to go a bit numb. “Over his worthless traitor _son_ —”

Thor caught the fifth punch in his fist. “All right, you had your go.” He flung her away and stood up, breathing heavily. He felt a bit of wetness on his lips and licked away the blood trickling from his nose. “Still angry?”

Sif prowled slowly towards him, ready for an attack. “If Odin could see you now—”

“Do not speak to me anymore of Odin!” Thor bellowed. “We all called Loki the prince of lies, but if he is, then where did he learn it from? When he and I found Odin again, I learned the truth about him, about Asgard, about the whole palace of secrets and false tales that made up our world. I found out that my father – Odin Allfather – had a child before me. Hela, the Goddess of Death. The Goddess of _Death_ , Sif! Was heir to the throne of Asgard! That together, she and he had conquered the Nine Realms and subjugated and murdered millions. And then he locked her away a thousand years ago, when Loki and I were babies, because she grew too powerful for him to _control_. And after telling us all of this? He died! And left Loki and me to face her, _alone_. To clean up his mess.”

He saw the shock on her face, the same shock he had felt when he’d learned the truth, first from Odin, and then from Hela. “You... and Loki?”

“We were there when he died, Sif. Loki and I. We sat with him and he told us everything, all the things that—”

“Midgard?” She stopped short. For a moment, the sounds of singing rose up high into the night sky, before fading before her wrath. “Odin did not die on Asgard?”

 _...Shit._ “No. Because he wasn’t there. Hadn’t been there for years.”

“That is impossible, he was the one who sent me here. He saw me off from the Observatory.”

“It wasn’t him. Loki sent him away. It was Loki in his guise in the palace. He—”

“He masqueraded as the king. For four years. _Four years._ And yet still you trust him and say that he was _right_?”

“Can you please focus? Loki is not the enemy anymore! You would be dead, if not for him! If he hadn’t sent you to Vanaheim—”

“Then I would have died for Asgard!” she shouted back, clouting him upside the head. Nothing like the fury of before, it was almost affectionate in its frustration. It meant nothing, a blow they had exchanged a thousand times before. But this time, it felt different. There was only close-cropped hair where there should have been a mane of gold, and that small difference somehow brought home so much more of the... the lack. The _loss_.

Sif stared at Thor, wide-eyed, and then turned and stalked away, fully expecting him to call her back so that they could start this all over again.

* * *

After swimming for a while, and scrupulously avoiding touching one another again, they flung themselves onto the bank to rest. Loki felt the power of Vanaheim humming in his cells and he badly wanted to work off more of the excess. He wanted to set the sky ablaze in color, or send the illusion of wild horses galloping through the village... He wanted to kiss the Valkyrie again, as he had done before, and hold her against him and just _feel_ her. Her, and nothing else.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No. It’s warm here.”

“You look like you’re shivering.”

“It’s nothing, just... memories.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

Valkyrie pushed a hank of wet hair out of her eyes. The braid he had made for her that afternoon had long since come undone. “After the Fall, after I came to Sakaar...” Her hands fisted and tore absently at the grass, needing something to do with her hands. What she _wanted_ to do was drink, but there was nothing nearby except water and that was useless. But if she went back to the encampment and found liquor, she would stop talking... and she wanted to talk, to relieve the pressure in her chest. “They called me a scrapper, because what else do you find in scrap heaps? But the truth is that I found people, and I sold people. I sold them to the Grandmaster, for the games... and they all died. All but Hulk. And Thor.”

“They don’t seem to hold that against you.”

“Bruce doesn’t remember, and Hulk didn’t understand. And Thor, hell, he’s king now, he knows I’ll go wherever he sends me.”

“Ah yes,” said Loki mincingly, “because a Valkyrie is sworn to defend the crown.”

She scowled and punched him again, drawing a very sharp “Ow!” from him when she hit a bruise on his arm.

“Because I’m sick of hiding from all the... messed up shit that I’ve done.”

“I can certainly understand that.”

“...Really?”

“No. But it makes sense that you would feel that way. As a very skilled assassin once phrased it, you have red in your ledger, and you want to wipe it out.”

“Assassin, eh? Sounds like just your type. Did you sleep with her, too?”

“Heavens, no,” Loki shuddered. “I do have a small sense of self-preservation.”

Valkyrie let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “If you say so.” She pulled up a handful of grass from the bank and tossed it into the dark water. “You can’t wipe out the red, you know. There’s no bringing the dead back. You can’t ever say, I was wrong, I’m sorry, because there’s no way to fix what you’ve done. I spent five hundred years on Sakaar, maybe longer. I don’t remember how many people I sold to the Grandmaster to die in the arena. I sure as hell don’t remember their names. If I ever knew them at all. And I don’t even have your excuse.”

Loki stiffened. “My...?”

“Midgard. Everyone says you were under some kind of mind control when you led that attack.”

“...‘Control’ is perhaps not the best word. There was an... outside influence at work on me. The means and method and target were not of my choosing, but the desire to find some place to watch burn... I wanted that.” Loki's fingers found a stone among the grasses and he flicked it at the water, watching it skip across the surface. “And if it was the realm that my golden big brother had decided was under his protection, so much the better.”

“Why?”

Loki felt the sting of tears in his eyes, and dashed them away before they could fall. “I believed... I had convinced myself, or allowed myself to be convinced, that he’d thrown me off the Bifrost. That he’d let me go, and watched me fall, because he wanted me dead. So I wanted to _hurt_ him.” He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. The pain and the mineral tang rooted him in what was real. “I should have fought against the desire, the... impulse... but it felt so easy, so right, just to give in. Perhaps I was doing what I wanted, or perhaps I was simply following in my father’s footsteps. Both of my fathers,” he added, with a bitter smile.

“So you’re certainly not the only one with red on your ledger.” He threw another rock into the water. “One life or a hundred. Or a thousand. Millions. And you’re right: it can’t be wiped out. All we can do is make sure that future pages are clean, and hope the blood of the past doesn't bleed through...” He found himself wondering if Odin had had these same thoughts, towards the end of his conquering days, and found that idea uncomfortable. “Don’t put yourself between me and Sif again. Please,” he added.

“‘Please’? You must be serious.”

“Deathly so. She is a friend, in spite of... well, everything. And I need Sif to handle Thor – his moods are becoming very... dark, and that’s not something I can help with. But she can’t do that if you and she end up doing injuries to one another.”

“You really think she can hurt _me_?” Valkyrie scoffed. “That’s a laugh. I’ve got two thousand years on all three of you children.”

Loki’s eyes were grave. “Sif is the best woman warrior Asgard has produced since the fall of the Valkyries, and she’s not afraid of anything. And as amusing as it would be to see the two of you trying to hack each other to bits in the most gruesome ways possible...”

“I knew you had an ulterior motive. You—”

Suddenly, Loki turned and kissed her. Just a breath of his lips over hers, but it surprised her into silence, which was why he had done it. “You don’t need to protect me from her,” he promised, rubbing his palms in little circles over her bare biceps. “You have far better and more worthwhile things to do with your time, and your oath to defend the crown shouldn’t extend to pretenders. Besides, Sif won't kill me without Thor’s say-so. Otherwise I would have been dead before I could shave.”

“...Okay, maybe I do need to make friends with this woman. She sounds like fun.” She kissed him quickly and stood up. “I’m going back in the water for a bit. You?”

“You go. I’m going to stretch out here. Absorb a bit more energy, enjoy the view...” He grinned as she sauntered into the river.

He folded his hands behind his head and settled in, letting the realm’s innate magic seep into his bones and drifting into a pleasant state of semi-consciousness. He couldn’t let himself fall asleep with Valkyrie nearby, but for the moment, this was... nice.

It had been a very long time since he had trusted someone else enough to willingly cat-nap naked in their presence.

After a quarter of an hour or so, he felt himself starting to drift off, so he formed a simulacra of himself and sent it back to the village, making sure to remember to clothe the image so his pale skin in the darkness wouldn’t add yet another ghost story to the Field of Bones. _How many of those am I responsible for...? Eh, a good number, anyway..._

There was a figure moving along the tree-line, halfway between the village proper, where the drinking and singing were still carrying on, and the royal encampment, where there was a light coming from Thor’s pavilion. _Well, that’s interesting..._ Loki promptly dissipated the image and reformed it closer to where the person was walking.

Right in front of them, in fact. “Sorry, did I startle you?”

Sif glared knives at him. “You are fortunate in not being physically present just now. I am not in the mood.”

“So I can see. What’s wrong, Lady Sif? Had a tiff with my right royal brother?”

“He lied to me. You lied to me.”

“As our father did before us. But what are a few lies between friends? Surely you’re not going to let a little thing like the twilight of the gods get under your skin like that. After all, it was our sister’s fault.”

“Loki. Go. Away.”

“You’re losing your touch,” he continued, needling expertly. “Not long ago, I would have known you and Thor to thrash one another into paste and then go off laughing to the nearest tavern. What’s wrong? Not in a drinking mood?”

She gritted her teeth. “I am sorry I attempted to kill you.”

“Hmph. Never try to lie to a liar, Sif. You’re only sorry you were stopped. You’ll try again. You’ll—” Suddenly Loki gasped aloud, and for a fraction of a second, his image wavered dangerously and seemed about to vanish. Then he stabilized. “Sorry about that,” he said, grinning in a self-congratulatory way. “A beautiful woman just started doing _amazing_ things to me with her mouth.”

Sif rolled her eyes skyward and longed for death. His or her own, either would suffice. “Then you should refocus your attentions on her and leave me be.”

“Oh, no need to worry, I can multitask during sex as well as you can.”

“Still not quite a man, are you.”

“And you’re still not quite a woman,” he shot back. “Not to the one man who matters.”

The shot struck home with a vengeance, and unable to counter it without trying to lie to the God of Lies, Sif braced herself for a barrage of insults.

“It’s surprising how much it still hurts,” said Loki, with unexpected understanding. “You work and you strive and you suffer and you bleed, all for the notice of one person. And you never quite end up getting it. Or if you do, it turns out to be too late. Or a lie.”

“Not a lie. Thor—”

“I wasn’t talking about Thor. But I would have been, once. I do remember what it was like when we were all young, and both of us competing for my big brother’s time and attention.”

“You were such an irritant,” Sif said, smiling a little at the memory of something immeasurably sweet, that now seemed as though it had come from another life entirely. “Always showing off.”

“And you were almost as bad as Thor for running away with yourself. Like a bull in a temple.”

“I wanted to be like him... I so badly wanted to be like him.”

“Why? I always wondered, even when we were children. Why limit yourself to what Thor was, when you could have just been you?”

Sif was well aware of the irony of Loki, of all people, saying such a thing to her. Was that not what he had spent most of his own life doing? “Because... because my parents were so damned intent on me marrying him one day! From the time I was small, all I wanted was to learn the sword and become a warrior. That was what I _wanted_ to do. It was _me_. And it wasn’t forbidden! The queen’s bodyguards were all women, and there were maidens in the Einherjar. But my parents refused. They wanted their only child to be something grander. A queen.” Sif snorted in disgust. “So I played with the princes and played the part of the obedient little noble’s child, and all the while Thor was teaching me sword forms and you were—” She stopped and looked at him with guilty remembrance.

“Teaching you to fight with daggers, before Mother decided to teach you along with me. Yes, Lady Sif, I remember. We were friends once. We... had quite a lot in common, in those days. Both of us overlooked, feeling unappreciated. No one else bothering to try and understand. And then you went and lost your heart to Thor anyway.”

“I was not proud of that. I’m still not.”

“But you are still in love with him. In spite of the men who’ve loved you since, in spite of the man you’d planned to marry... And you’d still have been Thor’s wife ages ago, if he had the good sense to open his bloody eyes... Well, I do know what it’s like to have given a piece of your heart away. There’s no getting it back. You just have to learn to live with it...” Loki’s jaw tightened. “I admired you so much, when we were young. I thought, nothing is ever going to stand in her way. The few times you took me to your bed, I actually thought I had died, and was being favored by one of the Valkyries before she brought me to Valhalla." And he laughed softly, as though at some private joke.

Sif grinned a bit. “It was less ‘took’ and more ‘drunkenly fell into’ my bed. ...I never thanked you, for those nights.”

“Thanked _me_? For what, not crowing about it in the morning?”

“That, yes. And... for not making me feel like a despicable person, afterward. Because you...” She waited for him to finish her sentence, as he often did when she wanted an uncomfortable truth left unsaid. But he would not oblige her this time. She would have to say it herself. “...were not the man I truly wanted.”

At least he was unsurprised by her words. “Sif, I am hardly the person to condemn you for using someone else for sex.”

“Perhaps. But you listened. We made love and then you stayed, and you listened while I poured out my maudlin ale-soaked troubles, and you never once took advantage of that, not even later, when—”

“When you turned traitor against your rightful king?” he said lightly. “Oh, no, I haven’t forgotten _that_ , either.”

“Thor has forgiven your crimes against him. Can you not forgive me this _one_ thing?”

“No. Because you still think I’m the ultimate villain in this history. And Thor hasn't forgiven me, he’s just got to live with it because I’m all he’s got left. Well. Almost all.”

“I think he will not consider me a friend, after tonight. I said... appalling things to him. I thought he was bewitched and... I accused him of abandoning Asgard. That I should say such things to my king and my friend...”

“He shouldn’t have kept the truth from you.”

“He was trying to spare me more pain, if only for a few hours—”

Something snapped. “Stop defending him!” Loki all but shouted. Sif stared in dumb amazement at this loss of control, and then it vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold quiet seriousness that fit him ill and made him seem like a total stranger. “I am _tired_ of this excuse from the line of Odin. Over and over. ‘I sought only to protect you from the truth.’ ‘He kept the truth from you so that you would never feel different.’ And what good has it done? Look at me, Sif, and tell me: what good has all this secrecy done?"

Sif could not meet his eyes, and he knew it.

“One son’s heart repeatedly broken by keeping him apart from people he loved. That same prince’s life ruined by the revelation that he’s secretly a monster. The golden heir’s entire worldview shattered by finding out that he’s actually the spare. And then to discover that Odin plastered over centuries of Asgard’s history to spare his own feelings of guilt, and it became family tradition, and it makes me want to vomit, because it _destroyed_ us. So no, Sif, I don’t think Thor was trying to spare you pain. I think he was trying to spare himself, as Odin taught him to.”

“And what of the lies you told?” she shot back. “You may not have usurped the throne but you told Thor that the king was dead. You faked your own death – you took the throne from your father and sent him away to die on Midgard—”

“He _deserved_ it!”

“I should find where you and your wench lay and gut you in front of her.”

“I would almost like to see you try. Do you know why she and I get along so well? No lies. Secrets, yes, but no lies. No pretensions. No _bullshit_ , Sif. She’s not trying to save me from myself.”

“No. Just from me.”

“Would you have reacted that way if Thor had told you everything? Hmm? Or would you have understood? Would you have thought, ‘Well, Loki has a good reason for not wanting to honor the Allfather and this is a quiet way of acknowledging that?’ It’s not as though someone doesn’t do that at least once at every single funeral in the history of funerals. You only got mad because it was _me_. Is this befitting conduct of an ‘honorable’ warrior of Asgard?”

Hit once again by the truth – and coming from Loki, of all people, Sif turned away and began to walk back to the village. The helplessness of her situation weighed on her like a shroud. She wanted to rage at something that could not fight back. She wanted to sink to her knees and sob like a child. She wanted... to go home.

“You should go back and make amends,” Loki suggested, standing in a spot in front of her where of course he had not been a moment before. “It doesn’t do to let the moon set on bad feelings. Maybe... pay the king a late-night visit. In his tent. He’d welcome the company. Especially such ravishing company.”

“I committed treason to help Thor’s mortal escape from the palace. He has made his choice plain, and I will not try to gainsay it.”

“Thor’s mortal has given him the boot. You’re free to make your move, if you want to.” His grin was a bright slash in the shadows. “And isn’t that what we’ve been saying? You’ve wanted to for years. Even when we were children. But he was oblivious even then. And then you met Haldor...”

Sif rounded on him. “Be silent, snake.”

“And you were doing so well with him, too. Until Lorelei showed up with all her plans. A pity, really. You would have torn your heart out to get Haldor and Thor back, to silence the sorceress—”

“I did,” said Sif, a tremor entering her voice. She steadied herself ruthlessly. “I did. And we got Thor back.”

“Mmm, so we did. Even if Haldor was a lost cause. He was mad about you. For a while.”

It was a cruel jab, even after all these centuries, and Loki knew it. Sif’s fingers itched to wrap themselves around his throat. But he wasn’t really there. “We retrieved Thor safely, and we captured Lorelei. And if I had to sacrifice my hopes for his life, then it was a fair trade.”

“Well, she’s dead now. Destroyed along with the rest of Asgard. Hopefully you can take some small amount of comfort in that.” Loki’s expression changed abruptly, from one of simply mirth to something more darkly humorous. “You know, there was a part of me that actually used to be jealous of Thor for that whole debacle.”

“In spite of the fact that her attempt at conquest ended up killing people you cared about?”

“In spite of that, yes. Before that, Lorelei and I were very... close.”

“‘Close,’” Sif snorted. “She was your lover.”

“Until she discovered her true powers. She never bothered using them on me, did you know that? Once she could stand tall on her own, well, what was the undervalued second son of the king of Asgard, compared to the ability to enslave all men to do her whims? Even to our enemies, I was always second-best. To enemies, to my parents, my friends, my lovers...”

“You’ve had enough tavern wenches and Einherjar in your bed to last ten thousand lifetimes, Silvertongue, so I think you lack just cause for complaint on that score. And you even managed to marry one... even if you did end up driving her away.”

Perhaps she ought to have thought better of that last; it had been an unspoken rule in the court that the prince’s estranged wife was never to be mentioned, and Frigga had caused more than one loose-lipped courtier to be cast out because of it. But Sigyn had been teacher and friend to them both, in their youth, and after his comment about her own late lover, Sif felt Loki had earned it.

Begrudgingly, he seemed to agree. At least he made no further jest at her expense. “...Go to Thor tonight. He shouldn’t be alone with his thoughts, and frankly, Lady Sif, neither should you. Lie with him or don’t, it matters not to me. But go to him. That’s my advice.”

“Advice I did not ask for, as usual. Begone.”

He shrugged and turned to go.

“That woman. Brun. What does she see in you?”

Loki turned on his heel and spread his arms wide, grinning and walking easily backwards through the tree trunks as his simulacra faded. “What else but my endless potential?”


	15. The Language of the Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Valkyrie come to an understanding. Sif and Thor are still working on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one today, since I was up until midnight writing [this other thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12910773). 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

He let the image dissipate and brought his attention entirely back to the matter at hand. “Stop, stop,” he gasped hoarsely, struggling to breathe. “Wait...” Valkyrie glanced up at him in surprise, her swollen lips still firm around his cock. Loki rose up an inch or two on his elbows and reached down to touch her face. “Come here,” he murmured, fully expecting her to laugh in his face. But to his shock, she shrugged and rose to put herself in his arms, apparently willing to play his game, for once. But for once, even to Loki’s surprise... there was no game.

It was the first time they had made love without him being bound, the first time she had let him have control, and the power of that trust went straight to Loki's head. She was warm and alive in his embrace, soft skin over hard muscle, and the way she molded against him and moved with him, moaning as he pushed inside her, was almost as intoxicating as the magic he sensed rising from the realm to envelope them.

Teetering on the edge of a seidr high, Loki pulled her more firmly against him, lifting her hips, wrapping her legs around his back, thrusting slow and deep. He dipped his head to pepper soft kisses down the strong lines of her throat to her breast, laving his tongue over her nipples, teasing them with his teeth...

Valkyrie knotted a hand into his hair and tugged his head back, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Stop it. Don’t touch me like it actually means something.”

He stared at her glassily for a second or two and then husked out a low laugh, the kind a man – a sane man – might let out before doing something incredibly unsafe. _No pretensions, I said..._ “And if it does mean something?”

Everything seemed to slow down, as the words left his lips and Valkyrie’s eyes went dark. Her hand in his hair tightened. “...Then don’t stop,” she said shakily.

* * *

Thor raised his head from his pillow at the knock upon the brace of the pavilion. “Who’s there?”

“Sif. My king... Thor, may I enter?”

He tossed back the blanket and rose. “Give me a minute.” He pulled on his leggings, but disdained his formal combat tunic in favor of a loose, open-necked shirt of Vanir linen. The metal eye patch was on the center table; he couldn’t sleep in it. He slipped the cord of a leather patch over his head and adjusted it, feeling foolishly like a pirate in a Midgardian movie. “Come in.”

She entered and then hesitated, as though unsure whether to salute or bow or make herself free of his quarters, as she had done when they were younger and more unspoilt. “I apologize for disturbing your rest, my lord, but I... wished to apologize for my actions this evening.”

“So you’re... apologizing for waking me up to apologize?”

“...Yes? Yes.”

“Ah. Well, consider yourself forgiven. No hard feelings. Water under the bridge.”

Sif nodded uncertainly. Thor motioned for her to sit and she did so at once, clearly glad to have at least one concrete order to follow.

“You seem calmer than earlier. The walk did you some good?”

“After a fashion. Loki sent a simulacra to harass me into better behavior.”

Thor snorted. “Yeah, he’s developing a disgusting habit of giving really good advice. Next time, do what I do: throw things at him. Either he’ll get annoyed at the disturbance and go away, or else you’ll hit him in the head and find out that it’s really him after all. It’s very satisfying.” His smile was small and worn-out, but genuine. “Right, well now that we've had our little fight like proper Asgardian warriors and made up like civilized people... do you want to talk? I mean, really talk.”

“I... I’m not sure how.”

Thor nodded. “Loki said to me recently that open communication was never something our family was very good at. It's true of the rest of Asgard. We’re not talkers. Not even amongst ourselves.”

“Loki is a talker.”

“Loki talks because it’s his weapon. It’s part of why I always keep him around. He’s better at it than I am, and his words make their own magic. And we – you, I, all of us – we spent our entire lives making fun of him for it. But it means he’s really the only one who’s even a little prepared for this exile. He knows how to make-do. How to adapt. He’s always performing, always making us see and hear what’s of most profit to him.”

“But never the real him. We never let him show it.”

“Or the real you, hmm?” Thor went to the sideboard to pour them both drinks. “We’ve known each other all our lives, you and I. We’ve played together, fought together, drank and bled and nearly died... You were my closest friend. I think the only thing we haven’t done is gone to bed together. And yet when it comes down to it, I don’t really feel like I know you.”

Sif looked at him in surprise. “Thor, I... I have always trusted you with my life.”

“And I, you with mine. I know you would follow me to the ends of Yggdrasil, and have.”

“And will,” she said softly. “That has not changed.”

“Thank you, my friend. But... everything else has changed. And we have to adapt.”

She took the goblet he offered her and drank, more to forestall speech than for the sake of the good Vanir cider. “I have... never been one for pretty words, Thor. You know that.”

“Yes. I remember you used to get quite annoyed with Fandral, for his poetry and his fancy wooing.”

“Fandral was a prince of your house, even if he never presumed on it. It was right for him to have such a talent. But I was born for the sword, and trained for the sword, and I had to fight for that training and that birthright.”

“Your parents were not pleased, when I took you into my company.”

“They called me... it hardly matters now.”

Briefly, Thor rested a light hand on her shoulder. He remembered what Sif's family, and many others, had called her, before and after she had joined his band of warriors.

“And perhaps in learning the language of the sword, I denied myself other ways of speaking...”

“Yes,” Thor murmured. “Asgard did its children no favors by putting swords in men’s hands and sweet words in women’s mouths, and never wondering if the one might be fit for the other. And Loki suffered for that. As, I now see, did you. I’m sorry, Sif.”

Tears bit at the edges of her eyes. “...I had no wish to hurt you, before. I truly believed you were bewitched by...”

“Loki?”

“By something, anything! I wanted to... I wanted a way to disbelieve what you were saying. But the more you revealed, and then Loki confirmed... I could do nothing but believe. ...I should not have pushed you to tell me of Hela. Of the Allfather... It was no business of mine.”

“You had a right to know.”

“No.”

“Yes,” said Thor firmly. “You are my sword-friend. I care about you. I wanted to shield you from the whole truth, at least for a little while. But that, that was not well done of me, and I apologize.”

She traced her fingertip round the damp edge of the goblet. “You are not the wordsmith that Fandral was, but you’re not bad at speaking. What you said at the memorial tonight... it was beautiful.”

“I’ve had to learn. There is might in speech, and wisdom in speaking the truth of one’s heart, and strength in hearing the truth of others, that not even the sword can bring.” His eye was bright and kind. “And so will you. So will all of Asgard.”

She smiled a little. “As my king commands.”

Thor groaned good-naturedly. “Your king commands you to stop calling him king. So? Shall we talk? As friends?”

Feeling herself to be on very shaky ground, Sif nodded.

* * *

Heimdall was unsurprised when Loki materialized next to him out of the shadows, with just a wisp of green fire to announce his presence. He’d known the prince was coming, after all. “Your flare for the dramatic will be the death of you someday,” said the watcher.

“Promises, promises.” Loki seated himself on the grass with a sigh.

“The weeks in space have sapped your strength,” Heimdall noted. “And before that. You spent too long in Odin’s form. You used no magic in the final battle against Hela.”

“I managed,” said Loki, in a low tone that warned Heimdall off the subject.

“You did. When I saw you coming... I was surprised.”

“Did you really think I was going to leave my people to be slaughtered by that hag?” Loki snapped without thinking, and then flushed, realizing what he had said. “...Well, that’s what they are.”

“Mhmm.” Then, “This method of travel still does not agree with you.”

Inwardly, Loki cursed. It had been bad enough, in his youth, when Heimdall had reported everything that he and Thor got up to off-world. But now to have him casting his eye over the ship and all of its passengers as well... “It will pass,” was all he said aloud. “Being planet-side refreshes me. And as we can’t afford to go the entire trip without stopping every few weeks, I shall be well.”

“There are hidden paths and doorways everywhere. You understand that better than most.”

“If I were strong enough to send the ship straight to Earth, I would do so. The idea of a yearlong enforced cruise with nothing but Thor and five thousand peasants for company suits me very ill indeed. I’ll need to find something to do.”

“You keep busy enough.”

Loki didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Do you disapprove of my dalliance with the Valkyrie, old friend?”

“Better to call it her dalliance with you.” Heimdall looked away from the star-filled sky, to gaze at his prince for a long, searching moment. “You lay claim to a friendship I thought as dead as the Realm Eternal.”

That, to Loki’s humiliation, _hurt_. “I have served you badly, in the past. I will apologize, if that’s what you wish of me.”

“My wishes are not under consideration. If you feel a need to ask forgiveness, you may.”

“...And would I get it?”

Heimdall turned his eyes back to the stars. “Someday. Perhaps.”

It was more than Loki had expected, so he did not argue the point. Instead, he followed Heimdall’s example and looked up, searching for something he could never manage to see. “Do you still refuse to tell me where she is?”

“Loki, I made her a promise,” Heimdall replied, as always, with a hint of regret in his firm resolve. “I cannot reveal her to you.”

“Odin and Frigga are feasting in Valhalla. Does your oath extend beyond their deaths?”

“My oath was not to them.”

The silence stretched out between them for a long time. “But she is alive? She is well?”

“You wife lives. She is free, and content. Sometimes she passes out of my sight, as you often do. But she always reappears.”

Loki let out a low breath of relief. “It shouldn’t still matter to me this much. She lied to me as much as any of them did.” Then, after a pause in which to gather his courage, he asked, “Has she... found anyone else?”

“Sigyn’s lovers come and go like a summer breeze, as yours do. But she’s never found anyone to replace you in her heart.”

The same answers to the same questions, but still, they calmed Loki. He rose and brushed the dirt from his clothes before disappearing once more. His voice traveled back on the night air. “Good night, Heimdall.”

“Quiet dreams, my prince.”


	16. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Sif each have an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one (but an important one!), as I've got Real Life™ stuff to do this weekend and I'm trying to build up a bit of a backlog. Please take note: there's been a pairing change.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki rematerialized silently on the bank of the brook. The air was still warm, though with a growing shiver of a chill as the night progressed, and the Valkyrie was where he had left her, curled under his yellow-lined Sakaaran cape, asleep.

Quietly, he stretched out beside her, and for some time, he simply watched her, focusing on the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing. His mind was too agitated to allow him to rest, let alone sleep, which he knew he could not do with someone else nearby. Sigyn was still in his thoughts... Gudrun... Harald... Lyka and Thialfi... His mother. Sif. Thor. Brun.

The chill breeze of the summer evening teased at his skin, and without thinking, Loki turned the breeze away from them. He wanted no distraction, not even that of the wind. And as he watched Valkyrie, and his thoughts touched on the people he had loved and lost, and the ones he had somehow gotten back, something took hold of his insides with a soft, inexorable clutch.

“Damn,” he murmured, gnawing at his lower lip.

Valkyrie turned over on the grass and cuddled against his side. His cape slid off as she moved, and he readjusted it to cover her. “Lackey,” she mumbled into his chest, “go to sleep.”

“I don’t sleep.”

“People who don’t sleep go mad.”

“I’m already mad, in my dreams... I do without it. We should go back to the camp,” Loki said, most unwillingly. “The pressure’s dropping... I think there’s a storm moving in, and from the feel of it, my brother has gotten either very emotional or very drunk. Possibly both.”

“Mmm... don’t wanna move. Comfy.”

“You won’t be comfy if we end up drenched. I can shift us back to my tent. Straight into bed. You won’t have to move a muscle.”

“No.” Valkyrie’s arm tightened over his stomach. “Never got to sleep next to you before.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“Didn’t. Do now.” She pawed sleepily at his leather tunic. “Off.”

His lips curled in a fond smile, and he surrendered to her wishes. “As you like.” He shifted out of his clothes and pulled her more snugly into his arms.

“Mmm... better. Warm.”

“Good.” He stroked her hair softly, murmuring low words under his breath, until the spell to sleep without dreams had lulled her into blissful unconsciousness. _Then_ he teleported them into his tent. “Really glad I actually hit the bed,” he muttered, tugged out the cape from around Valkyrie and tucking the fine blankets around her in the darkness.

He laid his head down, clasping her against his chest, until their breathing synchronized. It was a pleasing sound, full of gentle reassuring vibrations that soothed the ever-present ache behind his eyes. Her exhalations tickled at the light hair on his chest and at the scar tissue below his breastbone, making Loki shiver. He listened carefully, but although Thor’s pavilion was only twenty feet or so away from his own, all he could hear was the sound of thunder, overhead and moving closer.

* * *

Sif was, as any warrior of Asgard had to be, a practiced imbiber of all manner of spirits, but it was usually not her practice to try and keep up with Thor, who guzzled ale by the gallon as though it were water and who had once ended a trade dispute in Nornheim by simply drinking all the wine involved in the disagreement.

The fact that tonight, she _could_ match Thor drink for drink, was unsettling.

“Are you even trying?” she demanded, after the seventh cup of cider. “Or are you merely humoring me by letting me set the pace?”

He grinned knowingly. “If your plan is to drink rather than talk, you’re welcome to drink yourself into a stupor, Lady Sif, but talk we shall. You'll not avoid it so easily.”

“Have I not talked enough this day? And made a fool of myself in the bargain? I am angered that I was denied a chance to die for Asgard, no matter how meaningless a death. I am angered that our friends perished for no reason. I am _beyond_ outraged that Loki stole the Allfather’s throne and exiled him to Midgard to die. And...”

“...And?”

Sif silently held out her cup for a refill, and then drank deeply. “And that is all I have the heart and words to tell, tonight,” she answered, shaking her head. “The rest... it has not even been a full day. It is...” The betraying sting of tears burned in her eyes. “It is too much for one day.”

“I know.” He reached across the narrow space that separated their two chairs to clasp her shoulder in the old way, and his hand was heavy and reassuring. “It’s been three weeks, and it’s still too much.”

“Three weeks... and yet, it seems that long since you _arrived_.”

“I know. We have a camp for our people, we’ve held a memorial for our dead, you’ve tried to kill Loki twice... it seems like more than a day can hold. Well, apart from you trying to kill Loki multiple times.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t tried recently.”

“Not intentionally.” Thor’s grin was bright and all-too brief. “Only a day... In three days, I lost my father, my hammer, my hair, and my home.”

Sif glanced down at her drink briefly and then set the cup aside. “I fear you have lost far more than that,” she said quietly.

Thor’s jaw tightened, but he did not try to argue the point. “Nothing’s the same anymore,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “And... it’s so strange. He said to me – I thought it was Father, but it was Loki _as_ Father – that he had one son who wanted the throne too much, and another who would not take it. And he wondered if that was his legacy.”

“Knowing that it was Loki who spoke those words,” said Sif quietly, “it seems almost like foresight.”

“I know. So many times, I’ve thought that, and wondered... Sometimes I think Loki’s right. That Father really did always intend for him to remain in the shadows. That Father groomed him, not to be a puppet king in Jotunheim, but to be my right hand... Because all of his children became exactly what he wanted them to be. Hela was an executioner, Loki is a politician—”

“And you are a king,” Sif pointed out. “It seems plain now that Odin Allfather raised you all with specific aims in mind.”

"Mother always said that there was a purpose in everything he did. But he raised Hela to be a weapon. And he did the same with Loki. Loki was to be a weapon in a war that he decided not to fight. He raised me to be the kind of king he wished he had been.” Thor drank off the dregs left in his horn. “He said I was stronger than him, that I would be a better and a wiser king than him. But damned if I know how to do that.”

He took a deep shuddering breath, and then, as the faint hint of thunder growled on the horizon, he cracked, and then broke down in tears. He buried his face in his great hands and sobbed quietly, and Sif still did not see her king but her friend in pain.

Hitching her chair forward to close the little space between them, she leaned forward, laying her hands on his shoulders and resting her forehead against his hair, giving him what comfort she could.

“Everything I knew... is a lie. Everything. All the glories of Asgard, the victories and benevolence of my father, my grandfather... all of it. False. I don’t even know if my mother was also Hela’s mother. How did he sire such a daughter? Did Frigga even know of his early brutalities? She was younger than Odin.”

“I admit,” said Sif reluctantly, “I find it hard to image that there was much the Allmother did not know. Perhaps especially about her husband. And... no, I will not say that.”

“No, say it,” Thor insisted. “Whatever it is. I want no more secrets.”

“...I was not accustomed to thinking of the queen as a shield-maiden, until the end of her life, but I have not forgotten how she gave both Loki and me our first lessons in fighting. She was not unfamiliar with combat, Thor.”

His single eye looked up suddenly. “Sif. Just say it.”

“Whether or not she was Hela’s mother, it… seems entirely possible that she not only knew of Odin’s early legacy of conquest, but that she participated in it, as well.”

Thor’s eye closed, and his face seemed to crumple. “I can’t... Even when I was exiled to Earth, I never felt this adrift. I was cast out of Asgard, but Asgard was still _there_. Mother and Father, Loki, you and the Warriors Three... I found people on Earth, I made friends, but they...” He scrubbed a hand over his shorn hair and then stuttered, his fingers still looking for the long strands at the nape of his neck and not finding them. “I needed them for shelter and safety, and they became my friends, but they did not rely on me, Sif. Everyone here is relying on me, and trusting me to be precisely who I say I am. But what if I’m _not_ who I say I am?”

“You are king. And something the Allfather said to me frequently after the queen died was how isolating he found his role. ...Granted, the king I knew for the last few years was Loki, but...”

Thor nodded. “The comment still stands.”

“But you are _not_ alone,” Sif continued. “You have your friends, both of Asgard and of Earth. And your brother. Shockingly.”

That managed made Thor laugh, if only briefly. “Yes, my friends and my brother. All of whom I trust with my life. But Banner will leave us when we reach Earth, and Loki is still Loki. He’ll get bored eventually, and one day I’ll wake up and find him gone. And Brun and Heimdall... they’re loyal but they’re older than we are. They remember. How Odin was. What Hela was. And I feel the weight of their eyes on me, Sif, all the time. Measuring me against my father and my sister. And should I ever veer too far towards either Odin or Hela’s way... they will be ready to act. And knowing that... I have never felt so alone.”

She had _never_ seen such vulnerability from Thor, and it frightened her as little else in her life of battle ever had. At the same time, she was filled with a ferocious new sense of loyalty, far beyond the loyalty and the love that she had long felt for him. For centuries, she had followed Thor and been willing, even eager, to die for him.

For the first time, she believed, whole-heartedly, not only that he would do the same for her, but that to live for him would be far more glorious.

And as she was thinking this, Thor’s hands came up to rest on her shoulders, in mirror of her pose. “Sif, I... stay. Stay with me tonight. Please. I ask for nothing save your presence, but—” He stopped himself in mid-sentence, as though he _wanted_ to ask for more but could not bear to say so. “But I do not want to be alone.”

She hesitated, her heart in her mouth, wondering if the best way forward would be to simply say no, and find someone else to keep him company.

_But he asked for me._

Then she laid her hand alongside his cheek. The eye he lifted to her was darkened with loss, and his gaze clung to her face. “This is not for me,” she murmured, “this is for you. I will stay, Thor, if that is all you wish... unless you wish for more.”

His face changed suddenly, and his arms were around her before Sif had time to realize he had moved. His hands were in her hair and his mouth was against hers, awkward and gentle and hungry.

They stripped and stumbled to the bed, and all else was muffled by the thunderstorm that rolled down through the valley.


	17. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, the women and their princes have to regroup and take stock of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

When Valkyrie woke, she knew two things immediately: that she was not where she had fallen asleep the night before, and that she was not in danger. She felt the one against her skin and the other deep in her gut. Without moving, or opening her eyes, Valkyrie took stock of her situation. She was in a bed. She was not in _her_ bed on the ship, and from the way the pre-dawn sounds were moving around the space above her, she wasn’t in her tent, either. She ached pleasantly all over, and there was an arm around her shoulders and a leanly muscled chest beneath her cheek, rising and falling gently.

“Good morning,” said a familiar low voice. She felt Loki’s lips brush over her hair.

“Fuck... is it actually morning?”

“Almost. We’re between dusk and dawn, at the moment.”

“Ugh.”

His breath on her hair was warm. “Go back to sleep,” he urged, stroking the skin of her hip.

She wanted to. Badly. Her eyelids felt too heavy to open, and she was so comfortable in his arms... But all in a rush, she felt too warm, too confined, and all the memories of the previous night were coming back to her. Everything they had done and said and _not_ said—

Valkyrie pushed his hand away. She threw off the blankets and stood up. “I need to go. Back to my tent, back to the ship, I don’t care. I need a shower. A bath. Something. Alone,” she added, before he could take that as an invitation.

“Just as you like,” Loki shrugged, “but you are still rather naked.”

Valkyrie looked down. “Right.”

“Would you like your clothes back?” asked Loki, scrupulously polite even while entirely naked himself. “Or would you like to give the camp a show? I think a few people might be up who would appreciate it.”

She glared. “Normally, I’d just steal your blanket, but since I’ve only got the two sets of clothes...” Sighing heavily, she waved a hand at him. “Fine, yeah, give them back.”

Loki made a gesture in the air as though he was parting a curtain, and pulled her scrapper clothes from out of nothing. Valkyrie snatched the leathers from him, uncomfortably aware that she had never thanked him for rescuing them from the Commodore in the first place.

“I’m... sorry about last night,” he said, carefully avoiding looking at her as she dressed.

“...What, about where you antagonized me into beating you up?”

“No. Later.”

“...Oh. That. I... don’t be.” The painfully naked hope on his face when he looked up was almost too much. “Just... I can’t right now. This minute, I mean. Later, maybe we can... later.”

“Right.” Loki nodded. His smile was brittle. “Later.”

Valkyrie moved to go, hesitated on the threshold of the tent, then darted back and kissed him firmly. “I mean it,” she muttered as she pulled away. “Later. Tonight.”

“Tonight,” he agreed, eyes clinging to her, hands hanging onto her as long as he could. “Til then.”

* * *

At first, Sif thought she was dreaming. To her eternal embarrassment, it would not have been the first time she had dreamed of awakening in Thor's arms. But the more her senses returned to her, the more she realized she was _not_ dreaming, that she _was_ in Thor's bed, that they most definitely _had_... had each other, the night before. Repeatedly.

_Oh... oh hell. What have we done..._

Thor did not stir as she eased her way out of his embrace. His exhaustion, after all he had struggled through, was complete. But Sif was humming with nervous energy. She needed to be about and doing things. She needed to spar, to ride, to hunt... she needed to clear her head.

Quietly she dressed and slipped out of the pavilion, leaving behind her armored breastplate as a sign for when Thor awoke, lest _he_ fall into the trap of thinking it was a dream, and made her way into Volkang, to Breda's house, where her belongings were kept. Now that her own people were here, Sif pondered setting up a camp site of her own, to relieve the burden on Hogun's family. She had rooms in the capital city, for when she had to attend court, but politics wearied her, and without her friends to cheer her, she preferred the open country.

She took her bow and a quiver of arrows and headed out into the forest to hunt her breakfast.

It was a chill early morning, with the promise of a warm day beneath the lingering fog, and as she stalked through the trees, her eyes and ears alert to any movement, Sif's mind and mood unbent. She and Thor had not been so in their cups that night that their judgement had been compromised; they had gone to bed with clear heads. Mostly clear heads, at any rate. And while she had made the offer, it was Thor who had made the first decisive move. The love-making had been good for both of them. Very good. And it was no bad thing for two friends to take comfort in one another, she reminded herself, striving to silence the yearning in the deep wells of her heart that had not been sated, but only more inflamed.

The game was scarce that morning, and she moved through the forest, quickly covering a mile or so of ground. When she reached the waterfall known locally as ‘the trysting brook,’ she was a little startled to see Loki sitting on its bank, naked and wet from an early morning swim, lounging like a cat.

Sif thought to slip away quietly, but he espied her and raised his hand to halt her progress. He stood up without a thought for his nudity, which indeed was quickly covered as he shifted into the everyday clothes she remembered – loose wrap tunic and leggings, long vest, soft boots – though the colors were strange, a mixture of blue, purple, and dark gray, though with his usual gold embellishments. He shook the last of the water from his hair and leaped across the brook as lightly as a deer.

“Highness,” said Sif with stiff formality.

“My lady,” he returned, equally formal but far more cordial. Then he raised his hands placatingly. “You, ah, can lower that. I assure you, I am unarmed.”

Sif looked down and realized she had half-raised her bow at his approach. “Sorry,” she muttered, returning the arrow to the quiver.

“Of course. Slept you well?” His eyes watched her closely, but they held nothing of smugness, only a concern that she was not used to seeing anymore.

“What sleep I got, yes.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? In spite of the heavy storm?” And he looked at her with pointed interest.

“What livery is this?" she asked, changing the subject abruptly. She gestured to his raiment. “These are not the royal colors, nor yet your own standard. Are they hers? Brun’s?”

“After a fashion, I suppose,” said Loki, with some amusement, “although I hadn’t thought of it quite like that. The blue should be darker, though,” he added, and promptly altered it.

“She must mean a great deal to you, for you to have put off your own colors.” To her surprise, Loki’s cheekbones turned slightly pink, but he nodded. “They look well on you. You’ve grown since last I saw you. You’re broader in the shoulders and chest.”

“Am I?” He looked down at himself, brows knit in surprise. “I... huh.”

“The wrap tunic well becomes a slim man, but you are filling out at last, and it is noticeable. The strange leathers looked better.”

“I shall tell my tailor,” said Loki dryly.

“Though I saw that one thing has not changed: your aversion to undertrews.”

“Why Sif, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I would prefer not to care, but the leather pants made it difficult.”

“Yes, well, there's not a lot of breathing room in those things. How fares the king?”

Sif hesitated, unwilling to give him further ammunition to use, but decided it would be better heard from her own lips. “I left Thor still asleep.”

“Good. He’s had precious little of that, since we left Asgard. I hope you wore him out.”

“...He wore himself out, with weeping and with talk.”

Loki nodded. “He’s been holding it in too long. Thank you for looking after my brother, Lady Sif.”

Sif frowned. “You are not going to ask if we have lain together?”

“I told you already, I don’t care whether you share Thor’s bed or not. My concern is for the state of my brother’s mind. Being left alone with great trouble and trauma, left to fester...” He shook his head. “I know that isolation. I would not wish it on him.”

“Such care for Thor’s well-being, Loki? It is unlike you.”

His expression hardened. “Doubt my sanity, my sincerity, my loyalty all you like. It’s wise to second-guess all I say and do. But never presume to doubt where I love. Odin did, and look where that got us all. No, don’t,” he said sharply, when she would have argued with him. “It’s done and dead. But in this case, you’re right about my motivations. This isn’t altruism on my part; it’s insurance. I’ve had enough of a taste of true kingship to accept that I am truly a poor fit for it. But I’m Thor’s heir. If he incapacitates himself with grief, I will be in charge... and no one wants that, least of all me. And you are his friend of old. He trusts you.”

“He trusts you,” said Sif. “For some reason. And yet he will not confide in you. Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want to lose me again. And to keep me by his side, he will try to shelter and protect me from his own demons as well as mine. He’s trying already. But I am too wild to appreciate being protected, my lady. So you may have his confidence, and his bed in recompense—” Sif flushed in spite of her determination, but Loki merely smiled. “—and I will retain my liberty. I’ll be of more use to him that way. And if you should happen to provide my brother with an heir of his own blood, well, that would be a fortunate occurrence.”

“Keep your matchmaking to yourself,” Sif retorted. “I am not going to bear Thor’s child merely to oblige you. To let you run off to cause havoc with a clear conscience.”

“A clear conscience... Ah, if only.” Loki plucked something from the air, something unseen to Sif’s eyes, and with a twist of his nimble hands, produced a small silver mirror, delicate and shimmering on the early morning light. To her surprise, he held it out to her. “When I ask you for this again, and can look at myself without flinching, then you will know my conscience is clear. I think you will have this mirror for a very long time.”

She took it warily, holding it at arm’s length while she examined it. “I half-expect this to turn into a mouse. You did that to me when we were children.”

“With a hairbrush, not a mirror. But yes,” he said, smiling, “I recall. But this is merely a mirror.”

“Merely a mirror. Which you plucked from thin air.” She shook her head. “You should give this to her. To your woman.”

“...Don’t let her hear you call her that. But no, this is for you to keep.”

“Why me?”

“Because she’s not interested in changing me or trying to make me better than what I am. You are.”

“Was that a compliment, Loki?”

“No, Lady Sif. It was not.”

“...All right, I concede that I deserved that.” Sif took a polishing cloth from her belt pouch and wrapped the trinket carefully before stowing it away. “You are clearly not so weakened as you claim.”

“I certainly was when we got here. But this is a healing realm," said Loki, and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture which drew Sif’s attention to the thin braid at his temple, almost invisible against the rest of the coal-colored mane. “And a restorative one.”

“You do seem very different from the angry boy I remember. Different from the would-be conqueror returned from the dead. Different, even, from the man masquerading as the king.” His lips quirked a bit at that. “What happened to so change you?”

Loki’s light playfulness changed to something grimmer. “Many things. But finding out that your mother died due to actions directly related to your decisions has a way of re-focusing your priorities.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Shall we walk, Lady Sif?”

* * *

Groggy, hungover, and but for the armor she had left in his tent, not entirely trusting his memories of the previous night, Thor stumbled into the early morning light, trying to remember where the camp’s toilet facilities were.

After he’d discovered them and made use of them, and poured cold water over his head, he made his careful, bleary-eyed way to the royal mess tent. He found Valkyrie already there, gnawing unenthusiastically on a chunk of bread and drinking something that, from the way the fumes made Thor’s eyes water, she had gotten off the ship.

“Bad night?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, same.”

She glanced up at his face and then held out the bottle, which he took and swigged from before crashing down on the bench beside her.

“So what happened?” she asked.

“Sif and I had sex.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s... complicated.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. You?”

“I think I’m falling in love with your brother.”

“...Shit.”

“Yeah. Gimme back the bottle.”

* * *

Sif’s bow hung unstrung from her fingers, all thought of hunting forgotten. “The Allfather. Why... all of it. Why? For the throne?”

Loki did not answer at first, instead raising his eyes to the canopy of branches overhead, watching the light from the rising sun trickle into the trees. “I never wanted the throne,” he said at last. “Afterward, I wanted it, because I felt it was being kept from me deliberately. But not at first.”

“What did you want? Truly?”

“His love. I wanted the respect and the pride that he felt for Thor. And at the end, I got them. But knowing what we know now? It’s like ash in my mouth. I would trade it all to have Odin’s contempt back, if it meant I could have honesty.”

A cold blanket of familiarity settled around Sif’s shoulders. She _knew_ the pain of trying to earn the love of a parent who would not give it, and she cursed herself for not having seen the warning signs of Loki’s despair centuries ago. “And after? When you took the throne?”

“I hadn’t actually intended to. I hadn’t planned to return from Svartalfheim at all.” He tapped his chest lightly. “When I returned, it was in the guise an Einherjar. I told him that his son was dead. I wanted...” His voice became choked, and Loki trailed off, biting his lip hard.

“You wanted to see him grieve. To know that he loved you.”

Loki’s silence was confirmation enough. Sif let him be, until he was ready to continue.

“It was too much for him. Losing me, on top of... Mother. He collapsed into the Odinsleep. I can’t blame him, really; if I could avoid difficult conversations by falling dramatically into unconsciousness...” He kicked at last year’s beech mast. “He slept for almost two years. But when he woke, I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready to face him. To face any of it. I cast a spell to make him forget, but he countered it badly and it addled him. And then, well, what was I to do? I couldn’t keep him in the palace and risk him being discovered, so I made the spell even stronger. I took him to Midgard and left him in a place for the care of elders. I told them that his mind was failing since the death of his wife... it’s a common enough fate for both our peoples. It wasn’t even that much of a lie.”

“Why did you not kill him?” asked Sif, very quietly.

“I couldn’t. I wanted to, but... even when I was enraged, he was still my father. I had a fleeting thought to simply abandon him on the streets of some city, but even I recognized the impulse as petty, so I brought him to a place where he would be well looked-after. It took him some years to break the enchantment... I figured he would, eventually, but it would at least give me time to figure out what the hell to do next. But then he simply... stayed on Midgard. In exile.”

“But... why didn’t he have Heimdall bring him back?”

Loki's jaw tightened. “He gave up. And left his sons to clean up his mess.”

“So you accept that they are – were – your family.”

“Are. I haven’t got a choice now. I abjured his name for years... and then he called me son with his dying breath. ‘Odinson’ is my inheritance, my epithet, my burden, as much as it is Thor’s. I won't leave him to bear it alone."

“Then why did you condemn yourself to bear kingship alone?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” replied Loki dryly. “I was _technically_ committing treason.”

“You were, and I will not soon forget it, now that I know. But,” she sighed, “you did an adequate job, from what I could see.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“But... Loki, I need to know: why did you send me away? Only me, and not Volstagg or Fandral or Hogun?”

“Simple enough. I needed someone I could trust to represent Asgard’s interests in Vanaheim. Hogun was a good man and loyal to Thor and to the throne, but he was a Vanir first and always. Fandral could decidedly _not_ be trusted with such a mission,” he continued, which made Sif grin, “and I knew Volstagg would mislike the idea of being away from his wife and brood for so long.”

“Which left me. So that was it? Simple process of elimination?”

“I also thought you’d be good at it,” said Loki dryly. “Which you have been.”

“...Thank you. It has been difficult. The Norns did not form me to be a diplomat.”

“Freya didn’t order us all executed the moment we touched down, so I call your efforts a complete success. The Allfather would have been proud of you.”

Sif stopped walking. “Was that a compliment or a condemnation?”

“I...” Loki blinked for a second and then laughed softly. “I wish I knew. It was well-meant, at least.”

They continued on in silence for a little way, and then Loki stopped again. “I had to send you away. You were close to the king, and I feared...”

“That I would discover the truth?”

“That I would not be able to keep the truth from you. That I might reveal myself... I was so lonely,” he murmured, turning away. “I was losing myself in the masquerade, and I was tired. And you were... every time you smiled as me as Odin, every time you spoke softly or did a kindness for an old man, I remembered those few nights when we were young, and I _burned_ , Sif. I contemplated letting the illusion drop and offering you my head in exchange for one last night with you. I was on the verge of risking everything, just for the chance to recall the man I once was. And I couldn’t.”

“So you sent me away. And spent another two years as king.”

“Fighting and fading the whole time.” Then he grinned his old demon’s grin. “Still, it might have been worth it, don’t you think? Once last hot, sweaty tumble?”

Sif smirked, recognizing a flagrant attempt to bait her. “Oh yes, that would have been _very_ tempting. Especially the part about taking your head off.” She swung round abruptly, intending to lay the edge of her sword harmlessly against his throat. But he blocked her with a dagger of strange design, blue and double-bladed. The trees rang with the clash of metal and the low burr of Loki’s laugh.

“‘No weapons,’ trickster?”

“Ah, Sif. I am glad to be in your company again.” He saluted her with his blade. “I shall leave you to return to the king’s side. Tell Brun I’ll see her tonight. Oh, and if Thor needs me, I shall be doing something eminently constructive with my time.”

Sif wasn't sure if she liked the sound of that, but he grinned and vanished before she could question him further.

Her stomach growled abruptly, breaking into her thoughts. Sighing, she restrung her bow and returned to her hunting. To her surprise, rather than the dawn having driven the animals to ground, there seemed to be an inordinate amount of game about now.

She bagged a few rabbits and turned back to camp to hand them off to the citizens who had volunteered for mess duty. She was about to head for Thor’s tent, and then caught sight of him, breaking his fast with Loki’s woman – with Brun. “I saw Loki while I was hunting,” she said without preamble. “He wished for me to tell you that he will see you tonight.”

Brun nodded and drained what remained of a bottle of strangely-colored liquor, and got up. “I’m going to check things over on the ship for a bit and then see about getting a sparring group together. Some of those girls who fought on the bridge impressed me.”

“You do that,” Thor said, his eye crinkling at its corner. “If you see Banner, tell him to come find me.”

“Will do, your majesty.” She gave him a salute that seemed almost sarcastic to Sif, and sauntered off.

Sif sniffed warily at the bottle she’d left behind. “Norns,” she coughed. “What _is_ that?”

“I don’t even ask anymore. ...You okay?”

“Yes,” said Sif after a moment. “Yes, Thor, I am. You?”

“Good. I’m... good.”

“You didn’t mention your eye.

“...Sorry?”

“Last night, when you were cataloging your losses. You said, your father, your hammer, your hair, and your home. But you didn’t mention the loss of an eye.”

Surprised, Thor reached up to touch the black-and-gold patch, then caught himself halfway. “I guess it felt too natural to be tallied as a loss.” He rubbed the back of his neck for a second or two. “You, uh, said you saw Loki? How’s he?”

“Loki is very... Loki,” Sif said with a slight grin. “He infuriates me, as of old. One moment he is speaking of his devotion and loyalty to you, the next he is all but teasing treason. It is as though he wants me to doubt him.”

“Loki fights with his words as he does with his daggers. He wants to keep you dancing on the edge of your nerves.”

“It’s a fine game when I’m in a gaming mood, but right now I would prefer something a bit more steady.”

Thor looked up at her, and then stood. “Come with me,” he murmured, brushing her arm with his palm.

He led her to a sheltered spot between the mess tent and a mass of woven bracken being used as a wind screen, where they could have a few moments of privacy. “Sif,” he began, taking her hands, “last night, I... thank you. I can’t tell you... you showed me such strength. As you have always done, for my sake.”

Sif took a deep breath to steady her nerves, which were shaking as they never did before a mere battle of life and death. “You give me a reason to be strong, my friend.” She squeezed his hands tightly, willing him to understand, to not make her speak the words aloud. They would be more painful for being said, and unreturned, than for continuing to hold them close. She was not that strong anymore, not as she had been, in her youth.

Thor’s bearded lips curved into a smile that was almost bashful. “I have not given you much recompense for that strength, over the centuries. You have deserved more. I know you’ve wished for more.”

There was nothing to say to that, so Sif said nothing.

“I cannot offer you much,” he continued, with more difficulty now. “I am not heart-whole. Or any kind of whole. But after sitting and talking with you, last night, and finding comfort and sleep in your arms... I do not want to be without that anymore. And I would like to try to offer you more. Will... would that be enough?”

The sun was warm on Sif's hair, and her heart was very warm in her chest as she reached up to touch his face. “You are whole enough for me. You always have been.”


	18. Camp Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Routine camp bureaucracy for Thor and Bruce turns into a magic show and then into a biology lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This highly informative chapter brought to you by Non-Sleeping Guest Babies and Authorial Stomach Bugs. Enjoy!
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“I am going to find Brun,” Sif said, after she and Thor had hidden for as long as seemed wise. “I like this plan of training more young women as warriors. And she seems a good fighter.”

“Oh, she’s good. She bested Loki at daggers.”

“Indeed?” Sif was vastly impressed. “Even given her greater age, that is a feat to be proud of. No wonder he was overwhelmed by her.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Thor agreed. “And she bests me at drinking.”

“Now I know you're joking.” Sif turned to make her way towards the ship. “Oh, Loki wished me to say that if you need him for anything, he is busy doing something ‘eminently constructive.’”

“...Oh, that doesn’t sound at all alarming,” Thor said, his eye widening in concern. He was about to ask more, but at that moment, he saw Bruce Banner, now looking far more comfortable in Vanir linen and soft boots, coming up the path that was rapidly being worn into the grass between the main camp and the royal encampment. “I will see you later, Lady Sif?”

“Provided this woman Brun doesn’t skewer me on the training field,” she replied, letting go of his hand with some reluctance. 

Thor lifted his fingers to his eye-patch as watched her go. 

“You okay?” Bruce asked. “You look kinda worried.”

“No... no, I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. Va- Brun said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” Thor clapped him on the shoulder. “Come with me, we have business to attend to, and I’ve already wasted enough time this morning.”

“‘Wasted’? Wasn’t dawn only an hour ago?” But Bruce turned and walked with Thor out of the camp. “Where exactly are we going?” 

“We’re going into Volkang to speak with Headwoman Skanda.”

“And why’d you want me along?” asked Bruce, with wary amiability. 

“Because you’re the representative of a foreign people and you deserve to have a voice. And I wanted to see how you were feeling. We didn’t have a lot of time to talk, after you woke up.”

“Yeah, there was kind of a refugee situation to sort out.”

“So? How are you?”

Bruce shrugged. “Doing okay. Better today. For a while after the dose, I felt high as a kite, and going from recycled oxygen on the ship to a planetary atmosphere didn’t really help. But I’ve mostly come down now.” He looked around placidly. “Feeling almost Zen about stuff. Even the fact that it was Loki who mixed the serum.”

“I hope that amiability will continue,” said Thor, grinning, “because I need one of your PhDs.”

“Yeah? You know none of them are for fishing, right?”

“I want you to coordinate with the few healers and midwives we’ve got among the people to set up a field hospital. We’re going to be here for a while and I don’t want to impose on the village for more than we absolutely have to. Now, Loki went over the ship during the first week and inventoried everything he could find, so we do have a decent stock of drugs and supplies, and he’s been able to figure out what about half the drugs actually are. Heimdall’s been collating reports on the sick, the injured, and the elderly, as well as ten pregnant women , but I need him to organize the various hunting parties. And he’s not a doctor. You are.”

“For humans. I’ve never treated an Asgardian before.”

“Our physiology isn’t _that_ different from humans. It’s really just greater muscle and bone density and a longer lifespan.” 

“How long are we talking?”

“Oh, half a million years? Give or take five millennia or so.”

“...Right. So your people are effectively immortal, but you still want me to set up a field hospital.”

“Just because we live long doesn’t mean we can’t die before our time,” said Thor grimly. “We’ll be here until we can resupply, and that could be anywhere from a week to a month. Our hunters may come back injured. Our elders may sicken. Children may be born. We need a coordinated medical staff.”

“And you want me to handle it.” Bruce nodded. “Okay, I think I can see my way to doing that.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

“It’s nice to be needed for something besides smashing stuff.” 

Much to Thor’s relief, Skanda was more than amenable to giving them space to set up a temporary hall of healing near the village’s water supply, provided they would treat her people as well. Then, while Bruce went with some of the other villagers to scout out an appropriate spot, she and Thor hashed out a plan of hunting, fishing, and foraging that would benefit the Asgardians without depleting the local stocks for the natives. 

“This is agreeable,” Skanda said, very pleased, at the end of their council. “And I have had a message from Councilor Freya in Sessrumnir. She will return in seven days to begin trade negotiations for the rare minerals you offered her. I must send the rider back today. What will your answer be?”

“Tell her that we await her arrival,” said Thor promptly. “And be sure to put into the message that Prince Loki Odinson will be my trade delegate. I want there to be no mistake on that point.”

Skanda spoke to her scribe to be certain the information was taken down exactly, and when Thor was satisfied, he took his leave of the headwoman and her staff. 

He found Bruce, looked over the spot he had chosen, on a slight rise beside a quiet bend in the river, and gave his approval to the site. Then they two of them circled back through Volkang and around the ship, and into the encampment on the Field of Bones. 

“Look there,” said Bruce, pointing to where a largish crowd of people had gathered. “Well, they all look excited. What do you think’s going on?”

Thor had to squint to get a clearer view, but when he saw what was happening, he had to chuckle. “Come on, you should see this.”

They skirted several laundry lines and cooking fires and made their way to the back of the crowd, which on closer inspection turned out to be made up of the youths and young children of the camp, as well as some tolerant adult minders. Thor saw Alaric Volstaggson at the front of the crowd, and the Haraldsborns, Lyka and Thialfi, as well as several children from Volkang. And all of them were watching with rapt attention as Loki, prince of Asgard, was making animals out of fire and sending them racing harmlessly up and down a length of rope that was hanging, perfectly straight, from nothing at all. 

The finale of the show proved to be an enormous smoke-dragon that descended from beyond the top of the rope, gobbled up all of the fire animals, and then belched green and gold flames over the heads of the children before exploding in a shower of multi-colored sparks. The adults applauded, and the children cheered and demanded more. 

“Alas, my young friends, the king is here to speak with me, and so you all must away. But,” Loki added, in a conspiratory voice, “if you are all _very_ good... I’ll think of something even grander for tomorrow.”

It was more than enough to convince the children to allow themselves to be led away by their parents and minders. Alaric waved to Thor happily as he went off with his caretakers, and Thor couldn’t help but notice that many of the older children were keeping their hands in their pockets, as though hiding newly-found treasures. 

“What did you slip them?” he asked, after most of the crowd had dispersed. 

“Now, now, brother, that would be telling.”

“Please tell me it was nothing explosive.”

“Ugh, you are _so_ dreary sometimes. They were just apples, Thor. You missed that jest. I made the fruit rain down on their heads. Well, on their parents’ heads.”

“Cute,” said Bruce dryly. “I wouldn’t have picked you,, of all people, as having a soft spot for kids.” 

“Children are the best agents of chaos in existence,” Loki retorted, rather defensively. “We understand each other, they and I.”

“I know it well,” said Thor. “I remember how you used to be, when Mother used to take you to the city schools. In fact, brother, perhaps you should start a school for Asgard’s young.” He grasped Loki’s shoulder, grinning. “It would be a fine use of your talents, and keep you _and_ them out of trouble.” 

“You can _not_ be serious,” Loki began, looking deeply suspicious, but before he could continue, he was distracted by a cry of “Uncle!” and allowed himself to be pulled away by a slim blonde girl and a slender brown-haired youth. 

“Who are they?” Bruce asked, startled to see the god of mischief being embraced by a pair of apparent strangers. “They called him ‘Uncle’... Those aren’t Hela’s kids, are they?”

Thor snorted so hard, he nearly choked. “No, Banner, they are not.”

“So just how many siblings do you two have?”

“He’s not _literally_ their uncle. They’re his foster children.” 

“Oh!” Bruce looked vastly relieved. “Oh, okay, that makes more sense. I mean, none of you are old enough to have grown-up kids... right?” Thor looked at him in confusion. “How old are you, anyway?”

“By Midgard’s reckoning, one thousand fifty-six. I’ve been physically mature for six hundred years. So I’m absolutely old enough to have adult children. Emotionally, though, it’s roughly equivalent to being in my early thirties.”

“And Loki?” Bruce jerked his thumb at the prince, who was walking away with his hand on Thialfi’s shoulder and Lyka on his arm. “He’s your younger brother, so how much younger are we talking? Fifty years? A hundred?”

“About four months.”

“Four months? That’s it? Really?” Bruce blinked. “ _Really?_ So you two are just kids, basically.” He laughed a little, clearly charmed by the idea. “Just a couple of little angry baby gods.”

“Don’t let Loki hear you call him that,” said Thor with a grin. “Remember: you regained your better half by his hand. He may threaten to rescind it, if you irritate him too much.”

It was a serious warning, couched in friendly terms, but Bruce was unconcerned. “He’s the one who wanted to put the Hulk away so he could walk around without looking over his shoulder all the time. He wants to take that away? It’s his funeral.”

“You are very brave, all of a sudden.”

Bruce spread his arms wide, encompassing the camp and the ship and seemingly all of Vanaheim. “Look at how weird my life’s gotten. Look at how weird my life was _before_ this, and compare that to now. Six impossible things before breakfast, every damn day. It’s like Alice through the looking-glass. I figure, I can either be brave, or I can just go crazy. But all these kids...” Bruce waved a hand at where Loki’s captive audience had been “They all look like they’re between five and fifteen. How old are they, really?”

“You’d have to ask them individually, but at a guess, I would say... between five and fifteen.” Thor’s amusement was deep and warm. “We mature at much the same rate as your people do, at least outwardly, for the first eighteen or twenty years. After that, physical and emotional development slows to a crawl, and mental development increases.”

“Well, that’s handy. I’d hate to be a parent and be stuck with a kid going through puberty for a hundred years.”

“Oh, that still happens.” Thor thought back ruefully to his own immature years. “Loki and I are roughly the same age, and our poor mother had to put up with both of our nonsense at the same time. But because physical maturity does not occur until the fourth century, it makes for very prolonged childhoods, even though our children can _look_ like adults. I didn’t start to grow a beard until I was five-hundred-and-two. Loki, being of Jotunn stock, matured a bit more quickly. At least sexually,” Thor added dryly, recalling his baby brother’s precocious appetites. Finding out Loki had been adopted, and from where, made those memories far less embarrassing to his own adolescent manhood. “Though he only just started to fill out in his shoulders, and he still can’t manage half-decent facial hair.”

“So you’re not really _adult_ -adults until four hundred.” Bruce mulled that over, filing it away in his capacious brain. “Damn. And people complain about millennials having extended childhoods. So is there some sort of ‘adult’ rite of passage or is it just, ‘Hey, congrats, it’s your four hundredth birthday, go out and get a job’?”

“That depends on your station. If you’re, say, Gunnar the stonemason, you graduate from your apprenticeship and can strike out on your own. If you’re me, you get Mjolnir and access to the Bifrost. If you’re Sif, you tell off your family and go join Prince Thor on his wild adventuring. Asgard has traditionally been rather stifling for women. Sif’s only one of a handful of women who have managed to become warriors, and the only one since the days of the Valkyrior to take her blade to the outer realms and beyond as part of a band of royal adventurers.” A wistful little smile touched Thor’s lips. “When I was young, my mother’s personal guard were all women. All of them highly skilled and utterly devoted to her. Sif and Loki both used to take lessons in close-quarters combat from them. It’s a very feminine style of fighting, using daggers.” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t called it that, but Asgard clearly has weird ideas about gendering things. So what was Sif supposed to do?”

"Her father was of the nobility, the chamberlain of the royal household, and her mother was a palace healer. She could have been expected to follow in either of their footsteps. But she was an only child, so of course the main expectation was that she would marry. It was why her parents encouraged her to play with us, when we were children. They hoped from such innocent friendships, future alliances might blossom.” Thor smiled, feeling a curious warmth in the pit of his stomach. “And it did work! Just not in the way they expected.”

“Didn’t it? I mean, aren’t you two...?” Bruce trailed off, clearly unsure of precisely what Sif and Thor were to each other.

Which was understandable. Thor wasn’t sure, either. “...I suppose that if I had the brains that nature gave to birds, I’d have asked for her hand centuries ago... or she would have asked for mine.. But she has heartaches in her past, and now my heart is not whole.”

“What took so long? I mean, don’t royal houses have customs about betrothing and marrying off their kids as soon as possible?”

"Of course. I had several politically astute engagements, when we were young. All arranged by our father and that of the prospective bride. They all fell through eventually. Usually when none of us were paying attention. It was just business as usual.” 

“And your brother?”

“No.” Thor slowly brushed a lazy ant from his arm. “Mother always said he was too young. Loki and I just assumed no one wanted to bother with Odin's second son.” Knowing what he did now, Thor wondered if there _had_ been offers made for Loki’s hand, and if Odin and Frigga had refused them because of his heritage. “And then he took himself off the marriage market and got into a whole world of trouble—”

“Wait, wait. He’s _married_?”

“He was. Technically, he still is. But his wife left him, centuries ago.” 

“Huh,” said Bruce, after a moment. “Was that before or after he went psycho?”

“Before,” replied Thor sadly. “Long before.”


	19. A Good Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif and Brun have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the very short chapter, but I realized that the next bit requires a bit more set-up than I was able to do tonight, and this conversation doesn't have much to do with what comes immediately after, so I'm posting it on its own. Also, I really just wanted to focus on Sif and Valkyrie, without the Odinsons around as a distraction. 
> 
> Tomorrow, being Sunday, is my scheduled day off from posting this fic, which will give me time to work on Monday’s chapter properly.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

The ship was of a design that was entirely strange to Sif, but one of the odd gladiators was able to point her in the direction that Brun had gone, deep into the engineering section. “Brun?” she called warily, focusing on keeping her hands at her sides so that she would not reach for her weapon. 

“Up here.”

Sif looked up, and saw her standing on a platform perhaps a handsbreath above Sif’s height, peering into a control panel. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“If this is about Loki, I’m not interested. I have better things to do, and he doesn’t need the ego inflation.”

“That he does not,” Sif agreed wryly. “No, I wished to talk of your plan to train young Asgardian women in the art of combat.”

“Is that disapproval, Lady Sif?”

“The opposite. We need more trained fighters, and if the old order is gone, then I see no reason why those fighters should not be women as well as men.” Brun said nothing, only tapped irritably at the panel’s screen. “If this is an inconvenient moment, I can come back...”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. I’m trying to track down a blip in the power matrix. Looks like something is siphoning power from the engines, but every time I thinks I’ve zeroed in on it, the drain fluctuates and stabilizes.”

“That could become disastrous when the ship resumes space flight,” replied Sif with a frown.

“Worst-case scenario, we end up dead and adrift in the middle of Kree space...” Brun pulled a few wires out and rearranged them, but apparently without success. She growled and punched the panel, resulting in sparks and swearing. “It's not really serious right now but it could _get_ serious, and it’s pissing me off, that I can’t find this... Was there something else you wanted?”

“I also came to apologize for last night. I should not have attacked Loki, or threatened you. It was unbecoming of me.”

Brun glanced down at her, sizing her up. “It was also a really long night. Difficult for everyone.”

“That is no excuse.” Sif drew her sword and raised it, hilt-first, to Brun. “If you wish for satisfaction, Heimdall will witness the duel.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s Loki; he’s a fucking pest and if you’d stabbed him, he would’ve earned it. But I swore, a long time ago, to protect the throne and the royal family. And that means Loki as well as Thor. Sometimes unfortunately,” she added, with a dry roll of her eyes that made Sif bite back a sudden giggle. “There should be more, but it doesn't sound like the Borsons had nearly enough bastards. Which was not something I expected, especially from the twins.”

Sif arched an eyebrow. “There was just the one, as far as I was aware. Odin’s younger brothers slaughtered each other in a duel over a woman the year I was born.”

“Vili and Ve always were hot-headed idiots.”

“You knew them, then.”

“Knew them, fought alongside them, fought _against_ them...” Brun let out a huff and jumped down from the platform where she had been examining an engineering panel. “Look, I asked the others not to bring this up. For personal reasons.” She began to unbuckle the bracer from her left forearm. “But you’re someone who both the king and the watcher trust, and you’re clearly someone the prince has a healthy fear about. And given what you’ve done to get to where you are... I think you have a right to know.” She pulled the bracer free and held out her arm.

At first, Sif did not register what her eyes were seeing. There was a mark on Brun’s inner forearm, a tattoo in a shade slightly darker than Brun’s brown skin that Sif recognized, not from life, but from drawings in books that were old when she was young. Her mouth went dry as she reached out a disbelieving hand. “You’re... a Valkyrie?”

Brun drew in a deep breath. “Yes. The last of them. Don’t tell anyone.”

“But... how? The Valkyries – we were always taught that the Valkyrior fell honorable in one final battle, all of them, to the last woman.”

“We all fell. But I lived. Well, I survived. It’s been a long time since my life could really be considered ‘living’. Thor found me on a planet called Sakaar. He convinced me to come home, to fight one last battle against Hela... avenge my fallen sisters. I never expected to survive, let alone be... here.”

Sif felt suddenly unmoored. All her life, she had looked up to the Valkyries, studied and trained to be like them, and now one of them was before her, in the flesh! ...And she was a tired, hungover, hair-trigger fighter who showed the king little to no respect and who shared Loki Laufeyson’s bed. 

“Why?” she found herself asking. “Why keep your identity a secret?”

“I fought in my old colors at the last stand, on the Bifrost. But on the ship, I made the Valkyrie disappear. I just wanted to go back to keeping my head down and doing my job.” Brun – Valkyrie – pulled her bracer back on and tightened the buckles with a jerk. “I don’t want to be anyone’s hero anymore. All heroes are good for is convincing idiots to go out and get themselves killed.”

“You were my hero, when I was a child. You convinced me that I could be a warrior, in spite of being a woman.”

Valkyrie’s smile held nothing of humor in it. “Yeah? And where’s that gotten you?”

“You are already a hero and a legend, to everyone in this encampment.”

“Don’t I know it,” she grimaced. “And I’d like to stay a legend, thanks. Anyway... I thought you should know. What happened last night was because Thor kept you in the dark. He’s a good man, and he might even end up being a great king, but he’s still learning. He’s got to leave all the golden secrets of Asgard behind, or he’ll end up making the same mistakes that Odin made.”

“He knows,” said Sif simply. 

The Valkyrie looked her over for a moment, and once again, Sif had the impression that she was being measured for fitness. “So I was your hero, eh?”

“All the Valkyries were.”

“And how do you feel about sparring with your hero? In the interests of inspiring the young girls of Asgard to take up arms, of course?”

“I think I’m about to have my arse handed to me in a very good cause,” said Sif, grinning.


	20. Rendering Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki tries to figure out how to parent, while together, the Odinsons continue learning about their own parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

It occurred to Loki, as he was walking through the camp with his wards back to their tents, that as glad as he was to have them back in his life... he had no idea how to talk to them.

Which was a very odd feeling for him, not knowing how to talk to someone. Men, women, children, species from all sorts of realms and planets, he had always been good at chatting people round and getting to know them whether they liked it or not. Strengths, likes, dislikes, weaknesses... because he never cultivated the acquaintance of anyone he wasn’t planning to use to his advantage someday.

He couldn’t use the Haraldsborns. Didn’t want to, didn’t need to, couldn’t even conceive of the possibility of having to. It was... disorienting. Comforting. Terrifying.

_Oh Norns, what am I **doing**?_

At least they weren’t babes in arms. He’d always found babies to be unspeakably boring creatures, at least until they could crawl and start causing trouble. Then they were fun.

But this wasn’t fun. This was a responsibility. He was responsible for these children, even though they were more than two centuries past their majority and, if he had never seen them again, would have likely made shift for themselves in this new order of things. They could have gone it alone.

That wasn’t always fun, either.

“How are you?” he asked finally, as they were coming to Lyka and Thialfi’s camp site. “Are you well? Is there anything you need?” He was surprised at how much he wanted to hear the answers.

Lyka smiled as the three of them sat around the banked embers of the morning’s fire. “We are well, Uncle.” Her face was drawn and tired, but peaceful.

“Just waiting for what will happen next,” Thialfi added, choosing instead to flop on his stomach on the grass and rest his chin on his folded hands. “It’s all right. We’re used to it.”

“You’re used to fleeing from the end of days? Clearly you had very interesting childhoods.”

“Well, we did, but not quite as dramatic as all of this...”

“We were moved around very often, after our mother died,” Lyka explained. “Perhaps it was to hide us from you. We were never told. But we got used to keeping all our things packed and ready to leave at a moment’s notice.” Which, Loki realized, went a long way towards explaining how she had managed to save Frigga’s books. “Sometimes we were even woken up in the middle of the night and bundled away to a new place.”

“I think,” said Thialfi, “we may have even been hidden in other realms, at times, when we were very young.”

Loki frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Well...” Thialfi waved a hand at their surroundings. “This place is familiar. The smells, the trees... and the stars last night. I know I’ve seen them before, but never on Asgard.”

Lyka grinned and ruffled her little brother's hair. “Or perhaps you got caught up in one of your daydreams again.”

Thialfi smiled bashfully and pushed her away. “Maybe. We did move around a terrible lot, though. It got in the way of our schooling very much. We always had books, but not always tutors.”

“Yes, and the ones we had were all very stuffy and proper and ‘Oh, when you are a wife, this is how you must behave at court.’” Lyka grimaced. “Useless.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, “I had a lot of those useless lessons myself.” He made a flourishing gesture with one hand and dropped a small fireball into the embers, making them blaze up. “Sorry, needed something to do with my hands. So. What would you like to do? Study? Take up a craft? A profession? Marry and help with the repopulation of the species?”

“Actually... I’ve long wished to take a healer’s training,” said Thialfi, with a bit of a blush.

“Then you absolutely should.”

“Really? I mean, my tutors always discouraged it. They said it was, well...”

“They said it was womanish, I suppose.” The word ‘womanish’ fell from Loki’s mouth like a slug from a tree branch. “Oh yes, I’ve had that hurled at me a time or two, in my life. But why shouldn’t you take up a healer’s training? It’s a worthy calling and we will need all the skilled hands we can muster. You should pursue it.”

The look on Thialfi’s face jabbed at Loki’s heart, which was not nearly as carefully guarded as he liked to think. He wanted to haul the boy up and hug him, to hold his head against his shoulder and tell him it would be all right, that he was perfect and his interests were worthwhile, no matter what people said about certain knowledge and crafts being possible only for one sex or the other. It was what he wished Odin had done for him, at Thialfi’s age.

He did none of these things. He was, he realized, too terrified to dare. But he managed to grip the boy’s shoulder tightly, and his eyes, he knew, were eloquent. And when Thialfi smiled and sat up proudly, he knew he had been understood.

“And you, my girl? Have you a taste for any sort of life beyond palace gossip, which was apparently all you were trained for?”

“My interests tend more towards statecraft. When Sigyn and her... and the queen used to visit us, they would occasionally slip and mention court matters in my hearing, and I was always fascinated by it.”

Loki grinned. “Now, this is something I know more about. If you like, I can speak with my brother on your behalf. Perhaps you might be permitted to sit in on some council meetings and audiences with the officials of the various worlds we’re going to encounter on this trip.”

He found her expression of shocked delight most gratifying. “Uncle! Really?”

“Of course, really. And if you’re _not_ allowed, I’ll just make you invisible, so you can listen and observe anyway.”

“I don’t suppose you could teach me how to do that, could you?”

“What,” Loki smiled, “make yourself invisible?”

“It sounds like it would be a valuable tool for a politician! Plausible deniability!”

“Well, you’re not wrong...”

“She could learn it, too,” Thialfi said. “We both could. If we could just get our magic back.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki said, his frown cutting deep lines into his forehead. He knew from first-hand experience that neither Harald nor Gudrun had possessed even a hint of seidr, either in their blood or their bones. And perhaps one child might have developed the talent spontaneously, but both? And... “What do you mean by ‘back’?”

Thialfi shrugged and looked to his sister. “It was almost immediately after our mother died,” Lyka said. “The queen visited us for the first time, and... I remember when we were very small, we used to play games. Moving things about without touching them. Just small things. Cutlery on the table. Toys. Thialfi had a stuffed dog that he could make come to life. I could see people coming up the path to the house before they arrived. And then after the queen came, we couldn’t do those things anymore. So we’ve always jested to each other that we have secret magical powers that the mysterious lady took away. Of course,” she added, with a wry smile, “we were very small, and used to amusing ourselves. We told each other a lot of outlandish stories...”

Loki doused the fire with a word and seized their hands, sending a seeking dart of magic deep within them. If there was nothing, it should pass through without a reaction.

It bounced back almost immediately, hitting him between the eyes with a double strike that shocked him. He sensed his mother’s hand at work here, binding a pair of powerful sorcerers, but more than that...

He sensed himself.

“It’s mine,” he murmured faintly. “The magic you both possess... is mine.”

“But _how_?” Lyka asked. She squeezed his hand hard, as he had the day before, and again, nothing happened. “We know your heritage, Uncle. If we were of the same blood—”

“I know. It’s not my blood that flows in your veins. But my seidr... does.”

“So...” Thialfi glanced uncertainly at his sister. “Whose children are we, really?”

Loki shook himself out of his musings. “It matters not,” he said firmly. “You are who and what you are, and that is enough.” He took each of their heads in his hands in turn, and kissed their foreheads. “And in the meantime, I will attend to your future professions. Even,” he added, with a mischievous grin straight out of their earliest memories, “if it means taking on Lyka as my own personal diplomatic attaché.”

* * *

“Brother!” Thor hailed as he saw Loki coming into the royal encampment, late that evening. “You’ve missed supper. Come, share a drink with me.” Loki followed him into the king’s pavilion, and made a beeline for the sideboard. “What have you been about all day, that you forgot about the evening meal?”

“About my own business,” said Loki coolly, but with a twinkle in his eye that Thor was glad to see.

“Very engrossing business, I’ll wager. Did you see the fight between Sif and the Valkyrie?”

“ _No_ , I got sidetracked by that idiot Gustave and a pair of stone cutters he owes money to. Apparently the fact that the work they did has been destroyed and we no longer have either home or currency means nothing to any of them. The stone cutters say he didn’t pay them and Gustave says he did. I missed the whole damned battle.”

“And they wanted you to render judgment?”

Loki grimaced. “The trouble with being known as a liesmith means that people think I can smell deceit on others.”

“Which you can.”

“You’re missing the point. Who trusts a known liar to render an honest verdict?” He grabbed a bread roll from the board, tore it in half, and began assembling a massive sandwich. “Did you see the fight?”

“No, I was over in Volkang, helping Banner and the few healers we’ve got plan out a temporary field hospital. The medical bay on the ship needs to be completely overhauled, and it will just be easier to treat people if we can rush them over to the village.” Thor crashed down into a chair with a cup of mead in one hand and a pasty the size of his head in the other. “I did see them afterward, though. In the middle of a crowd of girls and young women. So they’ve at least drummed up interest in new trainees.”

“Good. We need them.” He sat down in the chair opposite Thor and set to work devouring his sandwich in enormous bites. Thor knew that hunger; it meant that whatever Loki had been up to during the day, he had been so engrossed that he had not stopped to eat. In their youth, the tendency had worried their mother. But for Thor’s part, he was glad to see Loki so involved in his life again.

“You always say to never try lying to a liesmith,” he said mildly, “so really, who better to sit in judgment? What was your verdict?”

“I told the stone cutters to stop being fallacious idiots and focus on something less petty, like building some damned rain cisterns. Then I told Gustave that they’d be building the cisterns on his camp site, and to clear out and move to the other side of the latrines. They all seemed satisfied.”

Thor tried and failed to hide a smile. “I think I like your way of passing judgment, brother.”

“You’d have liked it less if they’d tried to argue with me after I started walking away. _Thankfully_...” Loki tossed back the rest of his sandwich and heaved a contented sigh. “If I hadn’t just spent several hours with the Haraldsborns, I wouldn’t have been in nearly as good a mood.”

“I saw you walking off with them, after your magic show. How do they fare?”

“As well as can be expected. Still in shock, exhausted, disoriented... but they’re managing. Better than some of the people in the camp, in fact,” Loki added, with a fleeting expression of something that chilled Thor. “But they lived in such a permanent state of transition, after their mother died, that they almost seem better prepared to cope with this new life.”

“Not unlike you,” Thor pointed out, which seemed to both please and surprise his brother. “Do they need anything?”

“Something to do. It sounds mostly as though they were trained to be useless court nobles, and their lack of practical skills gnaws at them. Thialfi wishes to become a healer. He’s a kind-hearted lad, full of noble ideas about helping people, and with a mindset like that, better to be a healer than a hero. But he’s worried about being thought unmanly.”

“Then it’s good he has you to reassure him,” Thor said, because it was true, but also because he wanted to see Loki squirm a bit under the unexpected praise.

“Well, he needed someone to say so... and we haven’t any male healers for him to exactly model himself on.”

“There’s Banner.”

“Banner’s a Midgardian doctor,” Loki shot back. “Not a healer.”

“No, but he’s also a man, kind-hearted, and has noble ideas about helping people.”

“...I’m not sure I want my foster son to train under a man who once used my face to break paving stones.” Loki got up to fetch himself a drink, and when he came back, looked slightly more receptive to the idea. “Then again, I’m the one who holds the key to Banner’s good behavior.”

“And you do like being able to hold that sort of thing over people’s heads. What about the girl? Lyka?”

“She’d like to study statecraft.”

That made Thor laugh out loud. “Truly, brother, are you _certain_ these children are not of your getting? They certainly seem to have imbibed all of your best traits. I mean it,” he insisted, when Loki’s face darkened in anger. “Your head for politics was always well spoken-of, and though you disdain them now, you too once had noble and kind ideas about helping people.”

“Once, yes.” He raised his cup in a sardonic little toast. “May my wards fare better with their ideals than I ever did.”

Thor drank to that, and fervently. “If Lyka Haraldsdottir is as interested in statecraft as you say, she should begin her training at once. Perhaps she could sit in on the negotiations with Councilor Freya. She will be returning here in a week’s time and—”

“Like hell.”

His vehemence brought Thor up short. “Brother...”

“I don’t want Lyka anywhere near that woman. Not until I’ve satisfied myself that she isn’t a danger.”

“To whom?”

Unconsciously, Loki sat up a little straighter in his chair. It was a king’s voice and a king’s command, and he was still trained to obey such commands, in spite of his own years as a ruler. “I’m not sure yet. I have my reasons for mistrusting Councilor Freya, but they are personal and, when put into the greater context, relatively minor. I have no reason to believe that she intends ill against our people.”

“Only against you?”

“Not precisely...” Loki hesitated, and then shook his head. “No, it’s not ill that she intends towards me. Something unpleasant to my feelings, perhaps, but no more.”

“So you’re still willing to continue the talks with her.”

“Absolutely,” said Loki firmly.

“But you refuse to have your foster daughter present for these talks.”

“I categorically refuse.”

Thor groaned under his breath. “Loki, what aren’t you telling me?”

“That... would be telling? Look, we both know this has to be done, and you’ve said you want me to do it. So I will do it.” And he glared at Thor with his chin slightly raised, and his eyes defiant, like a man unwilling but ready to walk against a charging army, as though anticipating some knowing comment about his unusual deference toward his older brother and king.

“As you wish. Thank you, Loki.”

It was an unexpected and sudden end to the discussion, and Thor knew it. Still, it hurt to see Loki look so utterly uncertain in the face of simple honesty.

To cover his stumble, Loki rose to refill his horn, and as he returned, he glanced pointedly at a set of familiar red leathers, draped over the chest at the foot of Thor’s bed. “So,” he said with a smirk. “You and Sif.”

“You and Valkyrie.”

Loki's grin was easy, fond, and entirely unfooled. “Old news.”

“Not from what she tells me. Apparently, she’s grown quite fond of you, brother.”

“And you? Have you finally grown fond of Sif?”

Something about that question did not sit right with Thor. “Loki, if you've done aught to bring this about—”

“I merely suggested, last evening, that she come and speak with you, to give you companionship for a time. I certainly didn’t make her fall into bed with you. Or you into bed with her,” Loki added, very pointedly.

“Why suggest it at all?”

“Because after yesterday, I didn’t think you should be left alone with your thoughts. Especially not at night.”

Hearing Loki's plain speech, and his honesty, was a gift of trust, and one Thor knew he could not squander. “Thank you, brother.”

“Just try not to get her in the family way too soon. We don’t need any more mouths to feed.” Thor threw the crust of his pasty at Loki’s head, but missed, and then blushed. Loki laughed at him. “She left me for you, you know.”

“She didn’t.”

“She did! She left because I wasn’t as manly as you, at any rate.”

“That’s hardly my fault.”

“It wasn’t mine, either. It’s just who I am. Why did you wait this long? You and she were practically made for each other.”

“I don’t know. I suppose... because Father so pushed me towards her. If he’d left well enough alone, maybe something would’ve happened sooner.”

“He did all but officially betroth you two.”

“And... now? I know you and Sif had feelings for one another, once.”

“Once, yes. Thor, Sif and I worked out our ‘feelings’ for each other a long time ago. We tried being lovers, and it failed spectacularly.”

“Because you were too young.”

“Because a lot of things. We’re not good for each other. Not as lovers. She and I together are like combining flame and chemical salts: beautiful, dramatic, and potentially poisonous to bystanders. And we burn out quickly. You and Sif, though... I think you’ll work out. Provided you take an old married man’s advice.”

Thor was suddenly blind-sided by a wave of memories, of his younger brother strutting about the palace with his chest puffed out like a proud rooster, lording his newly married status over Odin’s heir. Swallowing a smile, as well as some tears, Thor asked, “Which is?”

“Don’t keep secrets from each other,” said Loki quietly. “Husbands and wives deserve their privacy, of course, I don’t mean that they don’t. But... there are secrets that harm. There are lies of omission. Don’t fall into that trap.”

“I am doing my best not to,” Thor replied. “But that does remind me... Loki, forgive me, I hate to bring up anything that might tarnish our mother’s memory in your eyes, but when Sif and I were talking last night, well... it seems unlikely that she was ignorant of our father’s reign of conquest. And she may have even been a part of it.”

Loki’s jaw tightened so sharply, Thor fancied he heard the bone snap under the tension of the muscles. “If that were the case,” he said slowly, “I would not be entirely surprised. I discovered something today, about Lyka and Thialfi...”

“...Loki. Are they truly your children?”

“No. But they are my progeny, in a manner of speaking. I was present and very much involved during both of their conceptions, and they – perhaps ‘inherited’ is not the right word in this situation – they each possess powers that could only have come from me. Harald and Gudrun had roughly the same sensitivity to seidr that you do. But Mother locked their abilities away when they were but children. And I have to wonder if _this_ is why she and Sigyn hid them from me, and dampened their magic. When they were born, my own powers were not yet in their full flower, and if Mother feared a manifestation of Frost Giant abilities...” Loki trailed off, not wanting to say the words aloud. “Well, if she feared what I’d do if I found out my heritage unprepared... she was right to be afraid. After all, look what happened when I did finally find out the truth.”

“Does this mean you going to try and undo Mother’s binding spell?” asked Thor, a bit apprehensively. “You know what happened the last time...”

“Yes, Thor, I know. Being immobilized in bed in the healing halls for six months with third-degree burns isn’t something one forgets. But I hope I’m a little more experienced than I was when I was sixteen. I will be careful,” he added, less caustically. “I only wish I knew why she did this. It would make the unbinding easier.”

“We could ask Heimdall. He might know something of Mother’s past.”

Loki considered for a moment, but shook his head. “It would probably be a waste of time. Heimdall’s eyes are turned inward now, because he has more to do than simply observe the Nine Realms from afar, but before, his watch was always turned outward. He patrolled the Bifrost, and knew the intentions of any who set foot on the bridge, but he was not privy to the secrets of the court. And if I could find ways to escape his sight, I have no doubt that Mother could have done so as well, and very easily.”

“But she never taught you those skills.”

“No. I taught myself. I’d assumed they were unique to me. But even in my supreme self-absorption, I know Mother was far more skilled at seidrcraft.” He swirled the dregs in the bottom of his cup, studying how the thick liquor clung to the sides. “But we could ask Valkyrie.”

“You think she would know?”

“She fought alongside the Allfather just like the rest of the Valkyrior. If Mother was his companion before the Fall, she may remember.”

Thor nodded. “You’ll ask her tonight?”

“Not tonight.” Loki smiled and rose to his feet. “She and I have some personal matters to discuss.”

Thor wisely chose not to ask. He stood and held out his hand. “Then I will bid you good night, brother.”

Loki looked at the offered hand for a moment, then knocked it aside and pulled Thor into a brief, awkward, ferocious hug. “Shut up,” Loki muttered.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

The brotherly moment was interrupted by a large person made of rocks entering the king’s pavilion, back first, dragging an enormous metal tub full of steaming water.

“Korg, what are you doing?”

“Ah, it’s for your lady.”

Thor blinked. “Uh...”

“Yeah, well, y’know she and the scrapper decided to have a bit of a fight, friendly-like, to see how they matched up, and the scrapper wiped the floor with her. Well, not exactly, since you can’t really wipe a grassy field. And Sif gave back almost as good as she got. In my professional opinion, they’re pretty evenly matched, apart from Valkyrie having about two thousand years of extra experience.”

“That would help,” Loki agreed politely.

Thor punched his ribs. “And the water?”

“Oh, well, after a fight like that, I thought she might appreciate a soak. I know I appreciate it after a fight. Just a friendly gesture, since I would like to avoid her beating me up like that anytime soon.”

“Very wise,” said Loki, his lips pressed together hard to prevent laughing.

“And since she doesn’t have a tent, I figured, Thor’s place is as good as any. Since you are sleeping together and all.”

“...Right. Thank you, Korg.”

“You see, brother?” Loki clapped Thor on the shoulder. “You and Lady Sif will be fine. Even the rock monster ships you two.”


	21. Conversations in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two pairs of lovers talk about their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PSA: There is a distinct possibility that tomorrow’s chapter will be delayed by a day.**
> 
> The plot picks up from here and I need to outline it a bit more, so that might take up most of my time tomorrow. Also I am way behind on making Christmas presents, so, uh... oops? If the chapter _is_ delayed, I will try to post some sort of short standalone fic from my pre-written stash to make up for it. ...Yes, I have a pre-written stash. Don't judge me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

When Sif arrived, dirty and dented and favoring one arm, Loki took his leave of them with a bow, and after a few moments of small talk, mostly involving the possibility of returning some of the other gladiators to their own homes, Korg departed as well.

“He’s a strange one, your Kronen friend,” Sif commented, laying her sword on the center table, “but amiable. And I’ve never known anyone to put so much sarcasm into a bow as Loki.”

“For someone renowned for his wordsmithing, his silence is surprisingly... eloquent.”

Unlike the silence that rapidly fell between Thor and Sif, which seemed heavy and seven different varieties of awkward.

“That bath looks marvelous. Is it yours?”

“Actually, it’s for you. Korg brought it. He saw you fight, and decided he needs to stay on your good side.” Sif grinned, and Thor couldn’t help grinning as well. “You look like you had fun.” What he really meant was that she looked relaxed and at ease, as though she had found a few moments of peace.

His heart did a small somersault in his chest.

Sif reached for the buckles on her breastplate, and then winced. “Oh, that was a mistake.”

“Do, uh... do you need help?”

She looked sideways at him. “How many times have we helped one another arm for battle? And disarm afterward? You had seen me naked long before last night, Thor.”

“Well, yes, but... it’s different now.”

“You are such a... man, sometimes,” she sighed. “As though this was your first time with a woman.” But her smile was fond, almost tender. “Yes, I could use some help.”

She made a very good point. Fellow warriors helped one another after all battles. There was no shame in it. Why should it be different now? Thor laughed at himself, and stepped forward to help her with the buckles. “Oh, that is going to _bruise_ ,” he murmured, looking at the clout on her bicep.

“I think I will not be much good for demonstrations tomorrow, but at least I can correct the girls’ form.” Thor worked her tunic over her arms, and Sif bit back a yelp. “It has clearly been too long since I had a decent sparring partner. I’m out of training.”

“I’m sure Brun will enjoy kicking your arse back into a useable shape,” Thor grinned, kneeling to help her out of her boots and leggings.

Sif arched an eyebrow down at him. “And is there something wrong with the shape of my arse?”

Thor blinked as something in his brain short-circuited. He could flirt. He had seen Sif flirt. But flirting had not been on either of their minds when they had fallen into bed. But... he’d said he wanted to try to build something with her and he _did_ want to and _Bloody hell, Odinson, just answer her._ “No,” he murmured, running a callused palm over the body part in question. “Nothing at all.”

_Oh, very smooth, ‘God of Thunder’._

But Sif shivered into his touch, so clearly he’d done something right.

He helped her into the tub and she sank into the water with a sigh. “This is it, I’ve died,” Sif groaned. She pulled her long hair out of the way and leaned her head back against the edge. “I’ve died and gone to Valhalla, and Valhalla is a hot bathtub in the king’s tent. Who knew?”

Thor smiled. “Tell me about the fight,” he said, pulling a chair up behind her and reaching for a comb.

He combed the dust and knots from her long silky hair while she, eyes closed in pleasure, related the tale of her sparring match with a warrior three times her age and ten times her skill. “I had my sword, and she used nothing but daggers, but even when I used both blades, I was no match for her. It was very good to fight a worthy opponent again.”

“And how long did this fight last?”

Sif’s forehead creased in thought. “Not long. Four, perhaps five hours.”

“Considering she took Loki down in all of three minutes, and me in about three seconds, I should say you acquitted yourself very well,” Thor said.

“You’re not serious. Three seconds?”

“Well, she electrocuted me, so it wasn’t exactly a _fair_ contest...”

“...She electrocuted the god of thunder?”

“I know, it was so embarrassing!” He slipped his fingers easily through her hair. “Are you ready to get out?”

“You mean I can’t sleep here?”

“Well, you could, but I don’t think you’d like my way of warming up the water.”

“Fair point,” Sif sighed, and began, slowly and a little less stiffly, to rise from the tub. Thor bent and scooped her up instead. “I should be annoyed by this, but...” She looked at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, and then put her arms around his neck and kissed him slowly. “We have no idea how to do this right, do we? Moving from friends to lovers?”

“No idea at all.” He rested his forehead against hers for a moment. “But this is not something I would do with a friend... or with a casual bedmate. So that’s something.”

“Yes,” Sif agreed quietly, kissing him again.

Eventually he had to set her down and help her dry off. But when she sat down on the edge of his bed, he hesitated. “I, um...” Thor rubbed the back of his neck and stared down at the pavilion’s floor, which was layers of carpets laid over the grass. He could feel his cheeks flushing. “Why don’t you take the bed? I don’t want to presume... and I can sleep on the floor, it’s not a problem.”

Sif stared expressively up at him. “...Thor.”

“Right.”

She turned back the corner of the blanket.

“Is that an order, Lady Sif?”

“Unless you want me to start calling you by your official title, _Your Majesty..._ ”

Thor groaned and pulled his tunic off over his head.

He doused the lamps and slid into bed beside her, finding the warm of her body against his side both familiar and strange. Familiar because he was very used to having a woman in his bed, even having Sif beside him – they had shared sleeping arrangements many times, on their adventures, but only ever as fellow travelers. Never as lovers.

It was going to take him a long time to wrap his brain around it... but, he thought, as Sif turned and pillowed her head on his shoulder, hugging her chest with her uninjured arm, the strangeness was not at all unpleasant.

“I like this,” he said softly. “It’s still so new, and... but I like it.”

Sif stretched up to kiss his stubbly cheek. “As do I.” She shivered as he stroked the muscles of her back. “I know about Brun. About the Valkyrie.”

“Ah. Sorry. We wanted to tell people, but she asked us not to.”

“I know. I can’t be upset with you for that. She had a right to tell the tale herself, as she chose.”

Thor nodded. “I’m grateful that she told you. It was the last secret I had to keep.” He raised a hand and stroked it down the unbound length of Sif’s hair. “How did you react, when she told you?”

“It was... it was a bit of a shock,” she admitted. Thor let out a loud snort, and they both laughed softly at the understatement. “We all idolized the Valkyries when we were children, and learned of all their exploits, and looked up to them... But I never dreamed of actually meeting one of them.”

“Well, we did think they were all dead.”

“And then to find her serving at your side, and to know that she was there, at the end of all things... And _then_ to realize that Loki Laufeyson is tupping the last of the Valkyries...”

“I think you might have the order of that backwards.”

“...Granted. Not that I can especially blame her, but...”

“I have never heard of any woman who could complain of the treatment they received in my brother’s bed,” said Thor dryly. “Or man, either. But... Laufeyson? Really? You would name him that?”

“Sorry,” Sif said, and to her credit, she sounded deeply embarrassed. “I would never say so to his face, but ever since I learned... it’s been difficult to think of him, otherwise.”

“Why?”

“Discovering that my childhood friend and first lover was secretly a Frost Giant was a _slight_ shock, Thor.”

“Granted. But at least you didn’t react by having a complete mental and emotional breakdown and try to annihilate an entire species because you found out your skin is secretly supposed to be blue.”

“...How did you react, when you were told the truth?”

“I mourned,” said Thor softly. “Because I was not told until after Loki fell from the Bifrost. I had seen my brother dissolve into madness, and take his own life, and I did not understand why. And then to discover... I was angered at my parents, for the deception. And at myself, for not loving him better. For having been the arrogant, self-absorbed prince I was, and never having seen how alone he always felt. That lie killed him, Sif.”

“You got him back.”

“I did, and I will always be grateful for that. But he was changed. He _is_ changed. He was... happy, once, when we were children. And loving. Always mischievous, but... kind. And he will never be that way again.”

“I know.” Sif shifted down to lay her head on his chest, and listened to the reassuring steady thump of Thor’s heart beneath her ear. “But he appears to be healing now. When we spoke, he reminded me more of the Loki I knew in my youth than he has in a very long time—” Sif broke off suddenly and groaned. “Why do we always end up talking about your brother?” she asked, lifting her head to look at Thor in bemusement.

He brushed a strand of hair over her ear, and chuckled. “Because he’s a familiar topic. We’re still new at talking to each other about ourselves.”

Sif sighed and cuddled closer against him. “We’re bad at this. I am bad at this.”

“We’ll learn. There’s time.”

* * *

In Loki’s tent, the Valkyrie was also being treated for an assortment of bashes and bruises. But Loki had a different approach to soothing hurts. She lay on her stomach on his bed, naked, her cheek pillowed on her folded arms, while he filled his palms with warming seidr and smoothed his hands over her strained muscles. “Oh, hell,” she groaned, as the pain melted away, “this is almost better than sex.”

Loki chuckled richly. “I’m glad it’s only ‘almost’ better.”

“Worried about your chances, Lackey?”

“Worried about my reputation. I’d hate to think that all my lovers were only interested in me for my hands.”

“Well, they are gorgeous hands... you are far too dressed.”

“If I weren’t, this wouldn’t be a massage.”

“That’s the idea.”

He bent low, until his breath was hot on the shell of her ear. “As you wish...” Valkyrie felt his clothes melt away, and his cock pressing against her lower back. “Turn over.”

“Not this time.”

He bent lower and nipped her shoulder, and shifted her hips and set to work.

“You planned that,” she gasped, a short time later.

“I plan a lot of things,” said Loki, with a smirk in his voice. He pressed a kiss to the top of her spine. “Something always works out.”

She kicked at him without heat and then shrugged him off so that she could collapse onto her side.

“Always out for what you can get,” said Valkyrie, not entirely disapprovingly.

Loki offered her his most winning smile, the one she hated. “I thought that was why you liked me. Opportunists, the both of us.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, if that’s even possible. I like you because you’re a good time.” It was a flat-out lie and she wished she meant a word of it, but she didn’t. And he knew it. “You’ve got gorgeous hands and an amazing voice, and those are surprisingly hard to come by, in lovers.” At least that was all true. Her eyes wandered over his long, pale form, draped elegantly and for maximum effect. “Among your other attributes.”

He acknowledged the compliment with a self-deprecating laugh that didn’t fool her one bit. “If all you wanted was a well-endowed partner, you could’ve had any man left for the asking.”

“Still could, and not limited to men, either. Don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re exclusive.”

“My dear, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I could have Thor, if I wanted to.”

“You could,” Loki agreed evenly. “You want to sleep with my brother, go right ahead. I’d love to see that fight between you and Sif. Just don’t ask either of us to join in the fun. Thor’s never been partial to intimate male company or Sif to women, and she and I in bed together at this late date would be _bad_.”

She tipped her head to one side. “You really don’t care, do you. It’s weird, I would’ve marked you out for the jealous type.”

“Not when it comes to sex. There are just too many opportunities to bother being tied down.” His grin became withdrawn. “There was one time in my life when I would have considered being faithful to someone. But she didn’t ask it of me, and didn’t expect it of herself, so I didn’t bother.”

“Your wife.”

He nodded.

“...You loved her very much.”

“She was...” He choked, and the words died. He rolled over and sat up, refusing to look at her. “She was the only person who I ever felt knew me inside and out. Even more than my mother. If she had been on Asgard when I discovered my true parentage, I don’t think she would have been surprised. She would have taken it in stride and it... it wouldn’t have mattered to her.”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “That’s hardly surprising. Every Asgardian left knows you’re a Jotunn, thanks to those stupid plays you sponsored while you were masquerading as king. The only one it seems to matter to is you. No one gives a fuck, Loki.”

The corners of his mouth tightened, and Valkyrie braced for an explosion. He could have as ferocious a temper as Thor, when the right buttons were pushed, and during their weeks on the ship, they’d had to explain several blown-out bulkheads and a near hull breach after some of their arguments.

But instead of lashing out, he ran a tired hand through his tangled hair, smoothing out the elf-knots he’d picked up during their lovemaking. “It mattered so much to me, once. And I couldn’t make anyone else understand _why_.”

“But Sigyn would have understood.”

“I... I think so. I hope she would have.”

“Even after she lied to you about your lovers’ kids? Even after she left you?” She let out a frustrated noise. “You’re never going to get over her, are you?”

“Have you gotten over either of them?”

She knew precisely who he meant. “Of course. Years ago.”

It was a lie and they both knew it, and when one of them was the god of lies, that was a problem. But instead of jeering at her and trying to get under her skin, Loki slid his hand up her arm and over her shoulder blades, and urged her to nuzzle against his chest, all without saying a word.

“I will never stop loving her,” he murmured into Valkyrie’s hair, as he caressed her back. “But she’s gone.”

“So’s Thrud. So’s Inge.” Slowly, she wrapped her arms around Loki’s waist. “But... you’re here?”

He smiled against her scalp, and she felt it like a brand. “I am. And so are you.”

She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, taking him inside her (he was ready; he _always_ seemed to be ready) and holding his wrists over his head in the absence of cuffs and chains. It was in the forefront of her mind to fuck him hard and then roll over and go to sleep, but his eyes glowed softly at her in the light from the foxfire lanterns, and she couldn’t. So she rode him slowly, agonizingly so, until he was panting and pleading under his breath.

“You,” Valkyrie said, afterwards, after she had risen to pour herself wine, “enjoyed that.”

Loki was lying face down on the bed, where he had flopped over after she had released him. “Mhmm,” he replied faintly, his voice muffled by the pillow.

She smirked into her cup. “If I’d known you had a thing for edging, we could have had some fun with that weeks ago.” Drinking off the wine, she strolled over and plopped back down on the rumpled bed, stretching out her legs, which forced Loki to sit up, lest he find her foot in an uncomfortable place. “Maybe when we get back to the ship. There are whole boxes of toys we haven’t tried yet.”

Loki growled pleasurably in the back of his throat and began crawling across the bed towards her. “My love, you may do that with impunity—” Her hand on his shoulder arrested him. “What?”

“You said ‘my love.’”

His face froze, a fraction of a second too long, and then he smirked and tried to pass it off. “Pretty words in the heat of the moment, nothing more.”

Before he could pull away, Valkyrie grabbed his hair. She knotted her fingers into his coal-black locks and hauled him forward for a hard, hot kiss that made him first moan with excitement and then whimper pleasurably for mercy. “I love you, too,” she said softly, and he froze again. “Which is maybe the fourth or fifth stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“That far down the list?” he said lightly. “I must be off my game.” But his eyes were wary.

“I love you, though why, I have no idea.”

“Maybe because we’re both broken. In very specific and similar ways.” Slowly, with a caution borne of long, painful experience, he brought his hands up to her waist and pulled her a little closer.

“Maybe. Just... don’t fall into thinking that I’m her or something. Your wife. I’m not her replacement.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice low and velvety and reassuring across her skin. “You’re a Valkyrie.”


	22. Multitasking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All anyone wanted was one night of unbroken, non-dramatic sleep. And then the Hulk happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter has been delayed by the fact that, for some reason, I have to write my chapters _backwards_. I don’t understand it either.

Deep in the night, Valkyrie’s sleep was shattered by a sudden, loud, terrified roar. She sat bolt-upright in Loki’s bed, her heart racing, a dagger in her – no, there was no dagger in her hand. She had left them on the table that night. That was stupid of her. Especially when she was in Loki’s bed, that careless and just asking for trouble—

The roar again, this time with crashing and tearing sounds. The lanterns suddenly flared to life, revealing Loki sitting up in bed beside her, his face drawn with horror.

“It’s the beast,” he whispered.

“The what?!”

“The Hulk!”

“Oh _fuck_.” She vaulted over him, scrambling for her clothes. Loki was already shifting into his leather uniform.

“I have to get to the ship,” he said, picking up his own knives from the table and sheathing them in his sleeves. “Everything I need to make up his serum is there. I’d hoped it would last longer than this...”

They heard cries of terror from the surrounding tents, from the Asgardian encampment and from Volkang.

“Help Thor,” Loki ordered, and vanished.

Valkyrie threw a complicated curse at the place where he had been and somehow managed to put her boots on while she was running out the door.

The encampment was in a panic, although thankfully the damage seemed confined to Banner’s own tent and a few trees that had gotten in the Hulk’s way as he had loped towards the river. She found Thor already there, calling out orders and complaining by turns. “Everyone just calm the hell down, please! Just calm down. As long as you remain calm, you’re not in danger. By Odin’s beard, can I not get one unbroken night of sleep in this place? God, being king is awful—”

“Thor!” Sif shouted, sword and shield at the ready. “We have to do something before he destroys the entire camp!”

“He hasn’t destroyed anything yet! He’s just ripped up a few trees!” Thor grimaced as something on the riverbank was smashed. “And a few boats.”

Hulk roared again and slammed a fist into the ground, tearing at the grass and making the entire field tremble.

“Keep it down, Your Majesty!” Valkyrie snarled. “You’re upsetting him.” She tightened the belt on her tabard and approached her friend carefully. “Hey, big guy,” she called, voice low and friendly and non-threatening.

“Thor,” Heimdall muttered, “what the hell is she doing?”

“It’s going to be all right,” said Thor, projecting more confidence than he felt. “He knows Brun, he trusts her.” He motioned for Heimdall and Sif and the gladiators to moved towards the anxious crowds. “Keep everyone back. Don’t let them fire on him, or throw anything. Just... we can’t piss him off anymore. We have to keep him calm.”

“What’s wrong?” Valkyrie was saying, keeping her hands where the Hulk could see them. “What’s the matter? Did something scare you?”

He stopped pounding the earth and glared at her, eyes as wide as a terrified horse’s, and breathing heavily. “Angry girl?”

Valkyrie smiled. “It’s okay, big guy. Who do I need to beat up?”

“Hulk scared.”

“I know. But it’s okay. I’m here, right? Nothing to be scared of when I’m around. Right?”

He let out a sound like an angry bull about to charge, and hung his head. His massive shoulders heaved as he struggled to stay calm.

She crept closer. “That’s right, everything’s going to be all right.” Carefully, she laid a hand on his arm.

Without warning, he scooped her up in one hand, and Valkyrie had to quickly signal to Thor that it was safe, that she wasn’t in danger. She stood balanced on his palm, looking him calmly in the eyes. “That’s it, big guy. Nice and easy...”

“Brun!”

She looked down swiftly, just in time to see Loki materializing out of the darkness at a dead-run. He tossed a vial up at her and and kept running, but before he could vanish again, the Hulk caught sight of him.

He tossed Valkyrie to one side and roared in fury, and grabbed Loki by the arm in mid-dash. The Hulk cracked him like a bullwhip, slamming him into a tree so hard that the trunk split. Loki crumpled and lay still on the ground.

“All right, enough’s enough.” Valkyrie backed up a few paces, and then launched herself forward, picking up enough momentum to run up the Hulk’s spine. She buried her knee in the side of his neck, grabbed his hair and hauled his head back, and splashed the vial of serum down his throat. “Sorry, big guy, but you need a fucking nap.”

He let out a choked, confused roar and stumbled. Valkyrie jumped and rolled as he fell to the ground, thrashing like a wounded boar, and then all of a piece, he went very still, and shrank back into Bruce Banner in full sight of everyone.

“...Okay, that was a lot more dramatic than last time,” she said, bending over and resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “Thor? Let’s... let’s never do that again.”

“I would have to agree with her,” said Sif grimly.

The king looked down at the naked, unconscious human in dismay. “Someone? Blanket?”

Someone in the crowd gingerly came forward to cover Banner. It took Thor a moment to recognize that it was Thialfi Haraldson. “Thank you, lad.”

At the base of the tree, Loki groaned melodramatically, which in Thor’s experience was usually a good sign. But when he tried to sit up, he suddenly went dead-quiet. He looked up at his brother with eyes gone wide and dark with pain.

“Damn,” said Thor tiredly. “Sif, help Loki to the healers. Let his wards go with him. Brun and I will deal with Banner.”

* * *

There was a foul taste in Bruce’s mouth when he woke up, and the oddly-colored lantern light didn’t hurt his eyes so much as confuse them. He sat up slowly, feeling hands on his shoulders.

“You okay?” It was Thor’s voice.

“I think so. What...” Slowly his vision cleared, and Bruce realized he was in a hastily thrown-together cot in a partitioned-off corner of the hospital tent. “The hell happened?”

“The big guy woke up.”

Bruce planted the heel of his palm against one eye. “Oh hell... did I hurt anybody?”

There was a brief, strangled scream from the other side of the cloth partition.

“Just Loki,” said Valkyrie.

“...How bad?”

“Nothing much. You wrenched his arm out of its socket, is all.”

“Oh, is _that_ all...”

* * *

Stripped to the waist and looking very pale and shaky, Loki tried not to tremble too much as the healer tested the arm whose joint she had just repositioned. “Oh, Norns,” he gasped, sweat dripping from his face, “I think I’m going to vomit.”

“Will he be all right?” Lyka asked, holding the hand of his uninjured arm.

“If he has breath enough to be dramatic, child, then his highness is well on his way to recovery.”

The dry, not-quite-fond tone of the former palace healer steadied them all, and Sif, still standing guard in the corner, snorted audibly. Loki had to hide a grin to maintain what little remained of his dignity. “I’m glad you survived, too, Eir. At least there will be one person here who knows how to put me back together.”

“Indeed. I have had many _many_ centuries of practice in doing just that.” The healer, a tall and austere woman, laid her hands upon his shoulder, so that a warm, reddish-golden glow emanated from her palms. Thialfi leaned in a little closer, to see more clearly.

Loki let out a shaky laugh. “I see that in spite of your obvious worry, you’re still oh-so curious and attentive to what Eir is doing. Never one to miss an opportunity. I like that. It’s a good trait.”

Thialfi grinned sheepishly. Lyka merely looked ill. “I’m glad one of us is. I’m afraid I’ve never had the nerves or the stomach for the sickroom.”

Sif glanced at a movement on the other side of the partition, and saw Doctor Banner hesitating there, looking contrite. She looked to Thor for confirmation and then motioned the human in.

The instant Lyka and Thialfi noticed him, they immediately moved to stand in front of Loki, drawing together shoulder to shoulder, to protect their astonished foster father.

“There’s no need for that,” he chided, looking unnerved, and tugging Lyka back by the hem of her tunic. “The beast is a danger, but Dr. Banner is a friend.” He rose from the bench. “Lady Sif, if you could escort the... if you could escort my children back to their tents.”

“Of course, my prince,” she replied, with careful formality. Childhood friend or no, she was a lady of the court and knew when the rituals had to be obeyed.

Loki pulled his wards into a quick, fierce hug. “Never come between me and danger,” he said gruffly, pressing a kiss into Thialfi’s curly hair. “There’s too much out there that wants me dead.”

They clung to him for a moment, especially Lyka, but then did as they were bid, drawing their cloaks about their shoulders against the light chill of the summer night. They inched nervously around Bruce as they left, which he couldn’t really blame them for.

“They, uh... seem pretty fond of you.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, with a touch of wonder. Then he shook his head and reached for his tunic. “Eir, if you could give us a few moments?”

She nodded and slipped out, giving them both a silent warning look of ‘don’t you dare make that shoulder worse.’

Bruce scrubbed a hand through his hair and then, still nervous, began digging his thumb into his palm. “I am... so incredibly sorry. I don’t even know what happened, I just... woke up.”

“There was nothing else?”

“I... maybe? Some kinda nightmare? And then I woke up and I didn’t know where I was and then...”

“And then the green beast is tossing me around like a ragdoll again. Well, I do know something about the rage and the terror that nightmares can induce. It’s been a hectic few days. I’ll get back to work on the serum tomorrow. Sorry, today.”

“At least I can help with that.”

“No.”

“The hell do you mean, ‘no’? It’s my damned problem—”

“Bruce. You would not stop at attempting potentially lethal doses on yourself. Because you’re desperate. I at least have the incentive of my brother’s considerable wrath helping me to keep you alive. Besides, figuring you out will be a challenge. Something to keep me occupied and out of trouble.”

“‘Occupied’? You’ve got a delicate trade agreement to start hashing out in less than a week, a couple of still-pretty-young kind of adult kids to worry about, a new girlfriend—”

“How do you know about that?”

“Uh, because I’m not deaf? The whole camp knows. You two aren’t exactly quiet. Oh, and speaking of the camp, aren’t you sort of the unofficial person for everyone to take all their petty disputes to?”

“I still have no idea how that happened...”

“Seriously, don’t you have enough to do?”

“I _multitask_. But for the moment, I just want to go back to bed.”

“You’re being awfully nice to me, you know. You even told your kids I was a friend.”

“In situations like this, there are only friends and enemies. We cannot afford fair-weather allies.”

“So you’re not just trying to get on my good side.”

“Oh, Bruce," Loki smirked. “Always.”

“It’s not really my good side you need to get on, you know. It’s the other guy’s.”

The color drained from Loki’s face. “That’s not going to happen.”

Bruce shrugged. “You’d better keep giving me that stuff, then.”

* * *

The Valkyrie was waiting for him in his tent, and Loki was so exhausted, he couldn’t even question her decision. “I don’t want anything else to happen for the next week, not until Councilor Freya gets here,” he announced, collapsing into bed. And then he became a bed, when Valkyrie climbed on top of him. Not for any seductive purposes, though; she just lay there, arms wrapped around him.

It was, surprisingly, exactly what Loki needed. His heart was still racing and he had been a bit light-headed on the walk back. “Thanks,” he murmured, struggling to stay awake.

“I’ll leave in a minute. I know you can’t sleep while I’m here.”

“It’s truly nothing personal, I—”

“Hey. You don’t need to explain it.”

He took her at her word and fell silent, because he deeply did not want to explain it. Especially not just them.

“He _really_ doesn’t like you,” she said, after a minute. “The Hulk.”

“No, he does not.”

“Why?”

“Tried to take over his planet once. He objected. You should’ve seen the floor after he was done with me.”

“Eh, you’ve just got to know how to handle him.”

“And how is that, hmm? Small soft words of one syllable and lots of things to smash?”

“He’s angry. I understand angry. When people are angry, it’s because things are out of their control, and it only gets worse when no one’s willing to take them seriously.”

Loki lifted his hand – carefully; it was the injured arm – to stroke her hair. “Having second thoughts?”

“About...?”

“About what you said to me, earlier this evening.”

“Should I be?”

“I could have died tonight.”

She snorted. “I’ve lost lovers before. What I regret is their deaths. Not that I loved them.” Her arms tightened around his torso, and then she turned and brushed a brief kiss over his right pectoral muscle. “If I was going to worry about every time someone I love might die, I’d be neurotic as well as sloshed. Even half a million years isn’t enough time for that.”

Loki smiled. “I love you, too,” he murmured. “You and your lack of sentiment.”


	23. The Crown’s Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day, a new drama: The brothers ask the Valkyrie about their mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shortish chapter today because I’m being dragged to my office holiday party.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

No one in the camp, or in the village, particularly wanted to wake up that morning, when the sun finally rose over the mountains and flooded the river plain with pale yellow light. But the day’s work could not be neglected, no matter how tired they all were. Fires had to be lit, food prepared, the village animals attended to, and none could afford to lie abed.

Inside the king’s pavilion, Thor stirred, but very reluctantly. “Hey,” he murmured to the back of the dark head sharing his pillow. “It’s after sunrise.”

“Why?” Sif muttered, and pushed her rump and back closer against him.

Thor ached with exhaustion, but he couldn’t help smiling. Sif had always been the early bird of their group, the person most likely to barge into his room and rout him out of bed, even if there was someone else in it, because she was ready to get on with her day. So it amused him to have the tables turned. He even considered, briefly, pulling away the blankets and tumbling her to the floor, as she had often done to him... but he didn’t want to get up, either. “I suppose a few more minutes couldn’t hurt.” He tightened his arm about her waist. “And you are... very comfortable.”

Sif replied with a low affirmative “Hmmm,” and turned over to nuzzle her face into the space between Thor's neck and shoulder.

* * *

Loki lay alone in his bed, staring at the canopy overhead. The beds in the royal tents were truly ridiculous - more than worthy of royalty, but that felt like the last thing that should have been taken into consideration, under the circumstances. The Valkyrie had left him some hours ago, and... he hadn't wanted her to go. It had been a very long time since he'd had the privilege of waking up next to a lover. Thus far, all the nights they'd spent together had involved either one of them leaving to return to their own quarters, or Loki lying there in the dark, awake, all night. And he was so tired... But he also hadn't wanted her to hear, or to see.

He lofted a hand over his face, studying the dull blue skin and the strange markings. The nightmares were becoming less frequent, now that he had most of his power back, but even the energy of Vanaheim had not allowed him to maintain his Aesir form with the unthinking ease that had once been Odin's greatest gift to him, and Loki found he was now forced to let the illusion go for a few hours every night, to rest. "Is this my weakness?" he murmured to the empty tent. "Or is it Odin's? You couldn't maintain your daughter's prison beyond your own death. Could you not even make this lie permanent?"

Then he laughed softly to himself. Poetic irony, perhaps. Odin's lies could only last so long as he was alive to maintain them. Left to their own devices, they had no strength.

The encampment was beginning to rouse to life, and Valkyrie had promised to meet him for breakfast. With a sigh, Loki rose and, with an effort, reshrouded himself with the appearance of an Asgardian prince. He was becoming more... not accustomed, _resigned_ to his Jotunn form – at least he knew he had to let it out, sometimes, and he no longer had to hold back the urge to scream whenever he looked in the mirror – but whatever his blood, he was still apparently of Asgard, and this form belonged to Loki.

As the illusion cloaked him, he automatically took stock of his physical condition both inside and out, and seeing that there were adjustments to be made, cast a circle and set about making them.

* * *

With the blankets pulled over her head, the light didn’t wake her, but the smell of frying bacon did. Groggily, Valkyrie untangled herself and realized that she’d been so deeply asleep that she’d ended up on the floor of her tent at some point during the night.

Groaning, she stretched her abused, tired muscles. Between the long, drawn-out sparring session with Sif and the short intense fight with the Hulk, she felt as though she’d been hit by an asteroid. She wanted the longest, hottest bath in history. A dozen or so stiff drinks wouldn't hurt, either. A giant breakfast...

Or Loki.

Picking up her clothes from the random places she’d discarded them the night before on her way straight to her bed, Valkyrie admitted with a wry grimace that what she really wanted upon waking up was to feel Loki next to her. It was a weird feeling. There hadn’t been anyone permanent in centuries, not since Inge, and back on Sakaar, the few people who had shared her bed for more than one night hadn’t exactly been the cuddly type. She’d made sure of that.

And it wasn’t even that Loki was ‘cuddly’ – it was like suggesting that someone cozy up to a shark. But he felt good, solid, real.

A strange thing to feel for the Jotunn prince of Asgard, who by his own admission, dwelt in the shadow spaces between stories and lies, and who proclaimed his loyalty to no one.

Still, he’d gotten under her skin and Valkyrie had allowed him to, because it felt right for him to be there. But she missed him in the mornings, and on the nights when he couldn’t handle having someone next to him, and she couldn’t help wondering, with a sort of idle, distant curiosity, why he refused to fall asleep in her presence.

There was trauma there, that much he’d admitted, and honestly, it was one she could understand. Even the trust between lovers sometimes wasn’t enough to allow a person to let go that much, to close their eyes and leave their safety so completely in the hands of one person. And when you woke shaking with cold and gasping from the kind of nightmare that just wouldn’t quit, even the comforting presence of someone who understood could be too much to bear.

She brushed the dirt from her boots, tugged on her cape, and went to Loki’s tent, knocking on the door frame once before slipping inside. “Morning, Lackey, I – oops.”

He glanced at her briefly. “I’ll be done in a moment.”

“I, uh... should I go? This looks... private.”

His lips twitched. “You can stay, if you like. It’s probably nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Permission granted, Valkyrie watched with unabashed curiosity while Loki, standing naked next to the bed, continuing working some kind of magic on himself. One long hand was pressed to his lower abdomen, just above his pubic bone, while the other delicately cupped his genitals. Several thin green strands of seidr wove themselves in a figure-eight between the space of his two hands. The figure rested against his skin for a moment, and then vanished.

Loki let out a low breath and then shivered. “Sorry about that,” he said, smiling as he clothed himself with a shimmer and a flourish. “But it’s been a month, and one must be responsible.”

Valkyrie stared at him for a moment. Then: “Oh!”

“Surely the mighty Valkyries must have made use of contraceptive spells,” said Loki dryly.

“Most of the mighty Valkyries preferred women,” she returned, with equal dryness, “but yes, we did. I’ve just never seen one like that before.”

“My own design. Damn near foolproof, but it only lasts about a month.” He plucked a comb out of thin hair and ran it through his long black hair, and then made it vanish again. “Breakfast?”

“God, yes, I’m ravenous.”

They intended to eat at the mess tent, where Heimdall and some of the other early risers of the camp were already gathered, but as they passed the king’s pavilion, where the cloth had already been thrown back, Thor hailed them. “Brother! Val – Brun! Come and break bread with us!”

Valkyrie sighed. “He’s just going to keep making that mistake, isn’t he...”

“Probably.”

There was a lavish breakfast laid out on the sideboard in the king’s tent. Sif was already seated at the center table, ale in one hand, tablet in the other. She did not look up from her reading, but saluted the newcomers with her cup.

“Did you sleep, Loki?” Thor asked, a little anxiously. “Your shoulder, is it well?”

Loki looked at him oddly. “Yes. ...Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m concerned! I’m allowed to be concerned.”

“Fine, you’ve expressed your concern.”

“Your Majesty, your highness, will all due respect, if you two don’t shut up and let me eat my breakfast in peace, you will have so much more to be concerned about.”

The brothers fell silent.

Sif looked up at Valkyrie with an expression of deep interest. “I’m impressed.”

“Do not get between a Valkyrie and her food. Or her drink.” Valkyrie shouldered past both Thor and Loki and dropped her loaded plate and a pitcher of cider on the table. “Continue, boys. Or shut up and sit down and eat.”

Thor blinked at her, then looked at Loki. “Not a morning person, I see.”

“Clearly not.”

The brothers gathered their own meals and took their seats at the table, a little hesitant now about conversation. Valkyrie saw very plainly that Thor wanted to bring up something, but she made him wait until she was good and ready and full of food. “All right,” she sighed, mopping her plate with a piece of bread. “What is it?”

“Loki and I were wondering... well...” Thor glanced at Sif, who frowned, not quite understanding what he was driving at. “It occurred to us that it’s likely that our mother could not have been ignorant of Odin’s legacy of conquest. And given that she gave both Loki and Sif their first training in weapons—”

“Did she? That’s interesting.” Valkyrie gulped her cider thoughtfully. “I’d wondered a bit about that. I mean...” She motioned at Loki. “You fight like a Valkyrie.”

“I _what_?”

“The daggers, the close-combat tactics, the fact that you’re willing to cheat your ass off to get in, get out, and get away. Those are Valkyrie tactics. We never bothered with shit like ‘honor’ and ‘chivalry’,” she added, much to Thor and Sif’s shock. “What, did your stories all say that we were the noblest of noble warriors? Sorry to kill your childhoods. The truth is, when your job is to protect the throne no matter what, things can get underhanded very quickly.”

“So, if Loki fights like a Valkyrie, and Mother taught him...” Thor's face suddenly flushed with eagerness.

“Thor,” said Sif, rolling her eyes at her lover. “The queen was not a Valkyrie. She couldn’t have been. Otherwise she would have fallen with the rest.”

“It’s much more likely that she was trained by one of us. Especially if she was of a noble family.”

“I... don’t actually know anything about Mother’s family,” Thor admitted. “Loki?”

“Shockingly, no. I asked a few questions, when I was young, but she was very skilled at turning conversations way from directions she did not wish to travel.”

“Something else she taught you,” said Thor. “But... perhaps before her marriage?”

Valkyrie shook her head. “Sorry, boys, but I never met your mother.”

“But you must have!”

“Nope. Odin wasn’t married the last time I was in his company. And I’m pretty damned sure that if the king of Asgard had married a Valkyrie, ten centuries and half a universe away or not, I would’ve heard about it.”

“...Oh,” said Thor. “Well that’s disappointing.”

“Why?”

“I would’ve loved it if Mother had been a Valkyrie.”

Loki shook his head. “You are such a fanboy.”

“But surely you must have _seen_ her,” Sif urged. “She must have been at court before Hela’s exile, if Hela’s rebellion was caused by Thor’s impending birth.”

“We’ve only got Thor’s word for that, from Hela’s mouth. I can promise Odin wasn’t married, the last time he sent the Valkyries into battle.”

“I’m inclined to believe what she told Thor,” said Loki. Everyone looked strangely at him. “Well, what need does the goddess of death have to lie?”

“If that’s the case, then Odin either married in secret, or...” She trailed off with a shrug. “Well, he was a good-looking man when he was young. I’d be surprised if he didn’t get at least one maiden into trouble.”

Thor’s eye narrowed. “Do not impugn my mother’s good name.”

“Perhaps you would recognize an image of her?” Sif asked hastily?

“It’s a long time to remember a random face.” But Valkyrie set down her cider. “Fine. Show me what she looked like.”

Thor and Sif pushed the platters to the sides of the table, to allow Loki to conjure up a small image of the Allmother as he had known her: of middle age, graceful, wise. It was an effort for him. Not the creation of the image, but the maintaining of his own composure, to hold it.

It was a long chance, all for them to satisfy their curiosity. But when Valkyrie saw the face of the image, she bolted to her feet with a curse of surprise. “ _That’s_ Frigga? That’s who Odin married?”

Startled, Loki let the image drop. “Yes.”

“Did you know her?” asked Thor eagerly.

“Not to speak to. And I never knew her name.” Valkyrie looked from prince to prince with a strange, unwilling expression. “But she was at a lot of the old war councils.”

“Giving advice?”

“Information. She was a Koronauga, one of the royal spy ring.”

Thor sat back in his chair as though struck; Sif’s jaw actually dropped. Loki stared at her for a moment and then began laughing under his breath.

“An eye of the crown. Of course,” he murmured with pride. “Of course she was.”


	24. Stolen Relics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lady of Vanaheim has returned to Volkang, and what she has to tell Loki will shatter what few illusions he has left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long-ass chapter, so it should hold you all over until Monday... *evil grin*
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

For the next few days, Loki got his wish: nothing dramatic or life-shattering happened. In fact, nothing exciting happened at all. He and Thor smoothed over the business with the Hulk and continued working with Skanda in Volkang to set up hunting and fishing parties. Sif and Valkyrie began training their new recruits in earnest, while Heimdall took on training the young men. Thialfi took up an apprenticeship in the field hospital, working with both Eir and Bruce, and with the king’s permission, Lyka was permitted to sit in on some of the council meetings

But Loki was still Loki. He was always about his own business, and often vanished for hours at a time. From long experience, Thor and Sif knew it was best not to ask, which Valkyrie found... frustrating.

When she did see him, it was when she discovered him either in her bed, or flat-out in the space of bare ground where he had pulled aside the carpets on the floor of her tent, his fingers digging slightly into the flattened grass.

The first few times she found him like that, she just looked at him for a moment and then went on with whatever she was doing, but something gnawed at the back of her brain, with him lying there.

Finally, she decided she had to know. She knelt down beside him and laid her fingers lightly on his scar. Valkyrie was no master of seidrcraft, but she could feel the energy flowing into him... and the energy leaking out. “You’re still not healed, are you?”

“I died, remember? And I wasn’t exactly able to take proper care of myself afterward. It’s going to take a long time. Years. Probably decades. Possibly longer.”

“You’re going to be fucked when we get back into space.” Loki only shrugged. “Damn it, _why_ won’t you go to the healers?”

“What can they do? They’re not exactly trained in treating Frost Giants.”

“You could maybe give them a chance to learn?”

“My dear, despite your assertion that no one gives a fuck about me being a Jotunn, I can assure you, they do. Most of the people left never saw those stupid plays I wrote for the nobles’ amusement, and the ones who did all think it was poetic license. I’ve no intention of letting one of those provincial herbwives poke and prod at me like some kind of science experiment.”

“What about Eir? She’s been your doctor since you were a week old. She knows all about you.”

Loki growled and rolled over into his stomach. “There have been two babies born this week, there are more on the way, the hunting parties keep coming back with injuries, and we have a total of three healers and one apprentice healer, plus Bruce. They all have more important things to do.”

“What about last week?” Valkyrie demanded. “What about next week?”

Scowling, Loki bolted to his feet and walked out.

“Fuck you too, prince,” she snapped at his back.

She slept badly that night. But when she woke up in the pre-dawn, he was sitting up in bed beside her, and she was cuddled up to his thigh. “You’re bad at apologies,” she muttered.

“So are you.”

“Where have you been?”

Loki shifted down to lay flat and allow her to climb on top of him, which was fast becoming her favorite and most comfortable position. “Working,” he said, which was more an answer to the general spirit of the question. “And I’ve been spending more time with my wards.”

“Ah.” Valkyrie put her cheek down on his chest so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“It’s not something we have to talk about. I know it upsets you.”

“It does, yeah... But my shitty behavior two hundred years ago shouldn’t make you scared to talk to me about your kids. So... tell me about them.”

Loki was quiet for a few minutes. He ran his fingers through her long brown hair, teasing out the strands. “I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll tell you about my wards if you’ll tell me about your stepson.”

“...I don’t know if I can, Loki. He... it still hurts, okay?”

“All right,” he soothed. “Let’s leave the subject for the time-being. Tell me about... hmm.”

“I wish I could tell you more about Frigga. She seems like someone I would’ve liked. And it... really makes a scary amount of sense. You’re probably just like her.”

“I like to think so. In some ways.”

“But I never interacted with her directly. I’m pretty sure Thrud did. She was the leader of the Valkyrior, and went to more of the high council meetings. She would have worked directly with the Koronaugu.”

“And you were her lover?” Loki’s voice was amused. “My, but you do have aristocratic tastes.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen some of the slime I slept with on Sakaar.”

“Well, variety and all that.” He deftly gathered her hair into one hand and moved it aside, while the other hand moved with slow, repetitive strokes from her shoulder to her hip and back. “Was Thrud the one I saw in your vision?”

Valkyrie’s eyes slammed shut. “Yes,” she whispered. He fell silent, and said nothing else for a long time, while she struggled to control the sobs building up in her throat. But when the pressure broke through, it was not with weeping, but with words.

“She was our leader and our light. It’s weird, but in some ways, you remind me of her. She wasn’t very big or intimidating – she was slim, petite, fair. She looked delicate. But it worked to her advantage. Everyone underestimated her. And then she’d charge forward and give them hell. We came up through training together. She was from a noble family and I wasn’t, but once you entered the barracks, none of that mattered anymore. That was hard for some girls, but not Thrud. I think... I think she was grateful for a chance to be measured against her own merits. And she was so _good_ at what she did.” Even if ‘what she did’ was to aid Odin in his wars of conquest... but that was on Valkyrie’s – Brunnhilde’s – shoulders, too. “I’ve never seen anyone handle a horse the way she could.” She looked up at Loki. “Do you ride?”

“I do. I’d say I’m a very good hand with horses, though it’s been some time since I had the chance.”

“...Okay, so maybe I have a type.” His low chuckle reverberated through his chest and into her body. “I loved her so much, it was a physical pain. Being near her, being apart, making love... but it was a good pain, it was... it was the sort of pain that reminds you that you’re alive, and that it’s a good thing.” Unconsciously, she wrapped her around around Loki’s ribs. “And then when she fell, it wasn’t a good pain anymore.” The words dropped so easily from her lips that Valkyrie felt for a moment that she must be lying, that perhaps she was having an out-of-body experience, or that she was dreaming. But she was there, and Loki was there, and Thrud was long dead, and the words and the tears were long, long overdue. “Do you think it’ll be a good pain again? Someday?”

When he spoke, it was so softly, his breath barely stirred her hair. “Someday.”

“Tell me about your wife? You mention her a lot, but you’ve never really _said_ anything about her.”

“I haven’t, have I?” His hands went still on her skin. “She was... considerably older than I, or so I thought when I was twelve. She was one of Mother’s elite bodyguards and a personal protégé of hers, and while my mother was indeed a skilled fighter, Sigyn was something special. Mother gave me my first lessons in dagger combat, but Sigyn refined and honed them. It was her business, after all, to be able to defend the queen, so she had to devote more time to the art. For a while, Sif and I trained together, but eventually she decided she preferred the sword and the glaive, and I was left alone with my mentor.”

“And it grew into love?”

“Not exactly,” Loki said, and even without looking, Valkyrie could hear the demonic grin spreading over his face. “If I try to tell that story, we’ll be here until sunset, and we do have to get up soon. The short version, though, is that four or five centuries later, she needed a way to escape an arranged marriage, and being a younger son with no obligations, I gave her a way out. The king was less than pleased, and we had a tough go of it, at first, but in the end, the marriage was allowed to stand, and we had a hundred and fifty years of being the most dashing and gorgeous young couple in the city. Somewhere in there,” he said wistfully, “we realized we were desperately in love with each other.”

It sounded so much like a children’s fairy tale, Valkyrie thought. Much too good to last. “So why did she leave you?”

Loki took a moment before answering. “I don’t know. I have spent the last four hundred years trying to figure it out, but there’s no answer that I’ve been able to find. We didn't fight – well, not like you and I fight. We both had our freedom, we talked, we.... did the things that people do when they’re in love. And then I came back from a trip one day and she was just... gone. And no one could tell me why or where.”

“Did you ever consider that she might have been pregnant?” Valkyrie suggested quietly. “I mean, that’s a pretty good catalyst for leaving a bad marriage. I’ve known quite a few women who’ve had to take that route. Some of them even ended up in the Valkyrior.”

“But it _wasn’t_ bad! I wasn’t... I wasn’t then what I am now.” Loki scrubbed a hand through his hair. “And she couldn’t have been pregnant. We wanted children. But we weren’t allowed to have them, by royal decree.”

That took Valkyrie by surprise. “Shit. I didn’t realize Odin was that hard-arsed of a father.”

“Ah. Well. You see, because Sigyn and I married without his consent, one of the conditions of him allowing the union to stand was that we could not have children until Thor was safely married off and could provide an heir. I thought it was just another excuse to punish me for my disobedient ways. Of course, now I realize it was because Odin didn’t want Sigyn to give birth to a half-Jotunn child and force him to explain himself to me.”

“That decision must have gone over well.”

“Oh, my mother was _livid_. Sigyn was a trusted friend of long-standing, so Mother took it almost as a personal insult. _She_ wouldn’t have given a damn about a Frost Giant grandchild. And Thor—” Loki broke off with a laugh. “He actually offered to go out and get married the very next day and get someone in the family way. Sentimental idiot. He could have done it, too, there were plenty of maidens ready for the asking. But that would’ve just made things with Father worse, and Sigyn and I thought, we’re young. There’s time... And then to make sure we stayed childless, Odin had Mother put ridiculously strong contraceptive spells on both of us.”

“Like the one you use.”

“The one I use is cast by me and controlled by me from month to month. If you and I for some reason decided to breed, I could break the threads at anytime. And you’re using whatever pharmaceutical method you used on Sakaar. But my mother cast the other spells from afar, and they were effective for a year at a time. Big difference.”

“Yeah, it would be.” Valkyrie’s lips twitched. “Your wife must’ve been pissed.”

“I’d never seen anyone so angry at Mother. I was young and biddable in those days, and didn’t realize what a serious breach of her trust it all was... So, since you brought it up, is that why Inge left her son’s father? To get away from a bad marriage?”

“She told me once that it was a one-night stand. Overall, she was pretty unconcerned about it, and her son never seemed to notice he was missing anything.” She leaned forward and placed a warm kiss on Loki’s lips. “It’s too bad, really, what happened to you and Sigyn. You’re good with kids, and they like you. You would’ve made a good dad.”

* * *

The night before The Lady of Vanaheim was set to return to begin the trade negotiations, Thor called his royal council to a special session, and sat at the table in his tent with Loki, Sif, Valkyrie, and Heimdall, although Valkyrie typically said little and drank much. Both Korg and Banner had declined to sit at the council of Asgard, though Korg had repeatedly stressed his deep appreciation and approval of Thor’s approach to monarchy. By Loki’s request, his ward Lyka was permitted to sit and observe.

Thor had to smile at the eagerness with which the young woman took her seat beside Loki, and how his brother made no attempt to conceal his expression of paternal pride. Whatever years they had lost, there was still a bond there.

“So,” said Thor, sitting down in his place. “Councilor Freya comes tomorrow. We need to be prepared for these talks, or else this entire venture will be wasted. Heimdall, when is she likely to arrive?”

“By midday, or perhaps a little earlier. Her party has been traveling in haste from Sessrumnir, and the lady in particular seems in a hurry to get here.”

“Who is with her?”

“A few guards, a clerk, and a young woman called Brynja.”

“Her aide?”

“Her granddaughter,” Sif corrected. “The child of Freya’s elder daughter. I know her a little, from my time in the city. She is a woman who keeps her own counsel, much like her mother, but she can have a brutal temper when roused. If Freya is bringing her, it is perhaps as a bodyguard, or perhaps as a spy.”

“You seem to have spies on the brain, Sif, since the revelations about the queen.” Loki’s voice was light and teasing, but there was a seriousness behind his jest that escaped no one. “Are you grasping at shadows, or speaking from experience?”

“The latter. The Vanir court has eyes upon eyes, and the other realms still have representatives here. And this far from Asgard, the ambassadors and courtiers are not quiet in speaking of their dislike of Asgard. The Ljosalfhar in particular enjoyed taunting me with stories of the Koronauga their queen captured and executed, some centuries ago, implying that I would suffer the same fate, were they left to their own devices.” Sif shook her head. “Court politics here are far more vicious than they used to be. And with the Bifrost again destroyed, and this time permanently, the various factions may begin to turn on one another.”

Thor’s forehead creased with worry. “You think that likely? So soon?”

“Without question,” said Loki. “While I ruled, I realized very quickly that the Bifrost was one of the Allfather’s most effective tools in controlling the Nine Realms. All who wished to travel outside their own borders had to do so at his pleasure, and with his permission. There are, of course, other methods of travel – plenty of the other realms utilize static portals of varying levels of legality.”

“Which is how the marauders reached Vanaheim four years ago.”

“Precisely.”

“But we destroyed those portals, Sif and I and the Warriors Three.”

“Portals can always be reopened,” Loki explained patiently, as though to a very slow student. “Given enough time. But time may be on our side, if we’re very lucky. Confirmation of Asgard’s destruction will have only reached the capital a week ago, and if these negotiations go quickly, and our hunting is good, we can have the ship resupplied and be gone before the other realms realize we’re grounded and vulnerable.”

Thor sat for a moment in without speaking, absorbing all of it. The silence was broken only by the soft scratching of Lyka’s pen, as she took notes. “I don’t like the idea of leaving the realms to devour themselves in chaos,” he said at last. “Which is what happened the last time the Bifrost was destroyed, and what has already been happening during Odin’s exile.”

“Thank you, brother, that was very diplomatic.”

“Would you prefer I call it what it was?” Thor growled.

“You don’t have the people.”

They all turned to look at the Valkyrie. “You’ve got five thousand civilians. That’s it. Some of them can fight, but none of them are even infantry-grade, let alone Einherjar. And they’re all looking to you for protection. None of the remaining realms are. You’re not king of the Nine Realms, Thor. You’re king of Asgard. What’s left of it.”

She shrugged and went back to her drink. Sif and Heimdall looked at Thor expectantly. Lyka stared down at her notes in discomfort. Loki leaned back in his chair, staring up at the red cloth ceiling. “We have Vanaheim’s indulgence, for now,” he said, the sole of one boot on the edge of the round table, rocking his chair slightly. “If we try to interfere in internal matters, especially where we’re not welcome...”

“I told Freya I was not my father,” Thor muttered, shame stabbing at him.

“You’re not. You’d try to fix everything out of the goodness of your giant sentimental heart. But we don’t have that luxury. And our help will very likely not be wanted.”

“...Right. You’re right.”

Loki dropped his foot and let his chair fall lightly back into an upright position. Heimdall poured his king a drink, which Thor took gratefully.

“Moving on... do you have the lists of the equipment we can salvage minerals from?” He looked over the list that Loki handed him. “Are you sure we can spare all of this?”

“Do you even know what you’re looking at?”

“Not exactly, but it... seems like a lot.”

“It’s a cargo vessel, designed to carry mining equipment, and that’s what it was carrying when we stole it. The equipment itself is largely worthless on the open stellar market, except as scrap, but there are elements in the computer cores that can be stripped and utilized in Vanaheim’s own manufacturing processes. Unless the king has plans to go into the mining business?” Thor threw a grape at his brother. “I thought not. And they can have the scrap for free,” Loki added. “It’s just taking up space.”

“Shouldn’t we keep some of it?” Lyka asked, momentarily forgetting herself. “For forging into weapons?” Then, realizing she had spoken out of turn, she blushed to the roots of her fair hair. Loki rolled his lips together tightly to suppress a fond smile, and clasped her shoulder.

“The kind of weapons you can forge from scrap metal aren’t going to do you much good in space, kid,” said Valkyrie dryly.

“And Midgard’s weapons, while primitive, would far outclass anything we could make from such materials,” Sif added. “If we had master-level weaponsmiths, then perhaps... but I do not know if any survived.”

“In that case, with the king’s permission,” said Heimdall, “I should probably start asking around.”

Thor nodded, and the watcher left to see if any master crafters of weaponry had been spared the end of days. “There is one other thing,” Thor continued. “Loki. Your last meeting with Freya did not go, well... well.”

“She caught me off-guard,” Loki shrugged. “I know her game now. It won’t happen again.”

“I still want you to have someone with you. An aide or a bodyguard.”

“We had this conversation days ago. The answer’s still no.”

“I could make it an order from your king.”

“And I would disobey that order without a second thought, as I am wont to do.” Loki’s tone was calm and even, but Thor wasn’t fooled for a moment. “You gave me a task, brother. I intend to fulfill it.”

“I don’t doubt your abilities, but I want you protected. If she knows how to get under your skin—” Loki flinched visibly. “You should not be alone with her.”

Slowly, with great care and deliberation, Loki folded his hands before him on the table, and his next words were addressed not to Thor, but to his hands. “Have you so little faith in me?”

It was not an accusation, Thor realized after a moment. It was a plea. He had entrusted Loki with a delicate and highly-skilled job, and after every crime Loki had committed, and every agony he had suffered in atonement for those crimes... he needed to do this alone.

“All right. But if anything happens, then next time, I will send Lyka with you.”

Loki’s head snapped up. “No, brother.”

“Yes, brother. If you won’t keep yourself from harm, I know you will keep _her_ from harm.” Thor rose from his seat, and the others all rose as well. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be an interesting day.”

* * *

When Councilor Freya and her party arrived in Volkang, Thor was in the headwoman’s house, waiting for her. “I would speak to you alone,” he said.

Freya eyed the king thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to the young Vanir woman who had entered with her. “Go. See to the tents.”

“You’re certain?” the other woman asked, giving Thor a look which he could not read.

“Yes, child. Go.”

“You’re very tolerant,” he said, when they were alone.

“An old woman can afford to be tolerant of overprotective grandchildren. Well, my lord?”

Thor towered over the Lady of Vanaheim, but she did not seem either to notice or to care, an attitude which told him to tread warily. “When last we spoke, you made mention that Asgard and Vanaheim have not always been friends.”

“That is true.”

“I was unaware, before, of the crimes that Asgard committed upon this realm in days past. I am no longer so ignorant, and I grieve for those crimes. I will do what I can, as king, to make amends.”

Freya’s lips twitched. “But?”

“But I must warn you, my lady: if you cause my brother grief again, or harm him, that will _not_ be to Vanaheim’s benefit.”

“Ah...” she murmured, nodding. “Did Loki tell you that I harmed him?”

“No. In fact, he was adamant that you did nothing save catch him unprepared. But I am somewhat attached to my only living relative, as you might imagine. So I say again, councilor: if any harm comes to him during these negotiations—”

“I have no desire or intent to harm your brother, my lord. I am here in the best interests of all of our peoples.”

Something about her words made Thor uneasy, but there was little he could do but let her go and prepare to meet with Loki.

* * *

After some thought, Loki shifted into his own colors to meet with Freya, though he kept the Sakaaran uniform over the Asgardian fighting leathers. It was all well and good to deck himself in what Sif had dubbed the Valkyrie’s livery, but a prince meeting with a foreign diplomat had to represent his own house.

Especially when the diplomat knew damned well he didn’t belong to that house in the first place.

Heimdall escorted him to Freya’s pavilion. “I will not watch,” he promised, “and I will not stand guard, as you order. But if you have need of aid, only call my name, and I will come.”

“Thank you, my friend,” said Loki quietly. He was far more nervous than he cared to be, and having Heimdall know it was... not exactly a comfort, but not a torment, either.

Once inside, he found himself once again alone with the Lady of Vanaheim. “Councilor Freya.”

“Prince Loki.” She offered him mead, he refused. “I am not here to accept your hospitality. I am here to do business.”

“Then you will abide by the conventions of doing business with a Vanir.”

He took the mead, and drank it perfunctorily. “Now then. To the matter at hand...”

She looked over the equipment manifest, and listened to his explanation of what the equipment was and what raw materials could be stripped from the machinery. Loki knew there were minerals that the Vanir needed for their metallurgy works and for the better growing of industrial crops, but what he saw as necessities, Freya played off as luxuries. “Vanaheim cannot simply _give_ supplies to the Aesir,” she said tartily, after Loki made what she saw as an insultingly low offer. “We must hunt and fish and farm enough for our own needs, and the quantities you are asking for, in exchange for what is a paltry sum, would leave part of our own population hungry this winter.”

“A master of seidrcraft could take these minerals and spin them deep into the soil,” Loki replied, his tone all smooth persuasiveness, “and whatever grains we are given could be grown back tenfold within a week of our departure. Of course, should you decide not to sell us provisions, we’ll have no choice but to remain in Volkang until we can gather them ourselves, which will doubtless mean we will have to winter here, putting an even further strain on the food supply.” He smiled. “And no one wants that, Councilor.”

“Were it not for Asgard, this would not even be an issue,” Freya retorted, her impassive face suddenly hardening into fury. “It was Asgard who scorched and salted our fields during our war with your people, and it has taken us millennia to reclaim the fertility of our lands.”

“My lady, my brother and I grieve most heartily for what Odin and Bor did to your people, but we had no knowledge of it—”

“Yes, so Odin’s blond brat said,” she spat. “And am I to believe that? Am I to believe that a war that lasted five hundred years and nearly obliterated my realm was simply _forgotten_ by Asgard?”

“Yes, Councilor! As much as I am forced to believe that everything I thought I knew about Asgard is a lie.”

“A man spends his entire life being lied to, learns to lie like a master himself, and then is surprised when no one believes him. Pathetic.”

She whirled around on him, so suddenly and unexpectedly that Loki thought he was about to be attacked. But there was nothing in her hands, no weapon, not even the warning glow of magic.

And then he swore at himself, because he had dropped instinctively into a defensive stance, and in an instant, the Lady of Vanaheim _did_ have a sword in her hand, and she was holding it at his throat. “You will disarm, boy,” she said, a low burr like a lion’s warning growl under her words. “Now.”

Angrily, Loki dropped his daggers to the table. Freya lifted the sword from his neck at once. “Those are not Asgardian blades,” she said conversationally.

Loki warily relaxed. Clearly now that she had reestablished who was in charge, she was no longer interested in considering him a threat. “No. I lost mine in our first encounter with Hela.” Though the Sakaaran daggers fit his hands well, they were nothing like the balance and fluid grace of his lost weapons. “They were a gift from my mother, at my adulthood rites. From Frigga,” he clarified, in case Freya should take advantage of the moment.

“I know. I knew her. We met several times over the centuries, first in council in the days before the Jotunns invaded Midgard, and then after, when you were but an infant. You are right to be proud of that connection. She was a remarkable woman. Have you children, Prince Loki?”

“I do.”

“Of your own getting?”

“I have my wards, as you know, who are the children of dear friends of mine.”

“And did you hold them as babes, watch them grow, stand over them as they slept and dream dreams of their future both bright and terrible?”

“No. No, I did not have that honor.”

“Then you do not know what it is to be a parent.”

The prince's lips twisted into a dangerous smile, thinking of Frigga struggling to get through to him, and of Valkyrie refusing to speak of her stepson. “Are you really going to stand there and tell _me_ that if my children are not of my own blood, then it doesn’t count?”

“No, Loki. I would never say such a thing to you. You understand a parent’s love. And their indifference. But I think that as yet, you have no conception of what a mother or father will do to protect her children. What lengths they will go to. Of what your mother did for you.”

“I have no knowledge of my birth mother, and no wish to hear whatever tales you have to tell of her.”

“I am still speaking of Frigga. She knew what Odin did to the first child who opposed him.”

“Hela was a monster.”

“She was what Odin made her.”

“So am I.”

“But are you?” Freya’s dark, glittering eyes seemed to pierce through all his defenses. “Are you what Odin wanted you to be, Loki Laufeyson, subservient puppet king?” He gritted back a curse that could have sliced flesh from bone. “Or are you the man Frigga wanted you to be? Loki Odinson, brother of Thor, master of his own destiny? Your foster mother was a good woman,” Freya continued, her voice soft and deadly serious. “She loved you, and your brother. I have rarely met any woman who was prouder of her children, or with more reason. But her first duty was—”

“To Odin,” Loki retorted. “Yes, I am well-aware.”

“To the safety of her children and of her people. Whatever secrets she kept from you, Prince Loki, and I have no doubt there were many, more than even I can reveal, she did so with the sole aim of saving your life.”

“From what, exactly?”

“From Odin, who both loved you as a son and feared you as...”

“As _what_ , Councilor?” he demanded, his temper beginning to get the better of him. “Since you seem to somehow know so much about my entire family, both adopted and otherwise.”

“Because I have eyes, prince, and I use them. As do others. The eyes of the crowns are everywhere.”

Loki growled and turned away in disgust. He understood her perfectly: there had been Vanir spies in Asgard. Well, that was no surprise. There were always spies. “Why did Odin fear me?”

“We were never able to uncover that secret,” said Freya. “But it was there, as real and palpable and fierce as his love. He could not be easy with you.”

“That, at least, is no secret to me.” He put his fingertips to his temples, trying to rub away the pressure building in his head. Something was going to give way soon, he could feel it, and either he would blow the tent and the councilor and himself sky-high with an ill-considered spell, or else he was going to start screaming. “He was nursing a Frost Giant in the royal family. Perhaps that was enough for the Allfather to fear. And he wasn’t wrong... I turned out just as he must have always thought. So bitterly disappointing for him. Even now, I wonder why he truly took me.”

“Is that not obvious? You are the stolen child of a conquered people, taken by the invaders, raised as one of them, taught to hate your own kind.”

“I was abandoned!” Loki snapped. “Cast aside, like yesterday’s trash on a midden. When Odin found me in the temple in Utgard, it was as a sacrifice to their gods. Laufey’s runt. Some sacrifice. No wonder they lost the war.”

“And how did he know?” Freya demanded.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“How did Odin _know_? If he found you abandoned in a temple, how did he know you were the Jotunn king’s son and not just a random unfortunate infant left to die to placate the Jotunn deities?”

Loki let out a soft, silent gasp, as he felt something in his chest break and fall apart. He turned away from Freya abruptly.

He had never wondered... How had he been such a fool not to have wondered? But it was obvious enough... when Odin first told him of his true parentage, he had just moments before touched the Casket of Ancient Winters and confirmed for himself that he was a Jotunn by birth. With his mind and heart in such a turmoil, and with anger and betrayal burning his senses, the story that Odin told and that his mother had later confirmed at Odin’s bedside had made sense.

But how could Odin have known? And why would he have bothered? Who could have told him that the king of Jotunheim had a worthless baby he wished to discard?

_The eyes of the crown are everywhere..._

A remarkable woman, who was once a member of the royal spy ring. Who was frequently in Odin’s war councils before the Frost Giants attacked Midgard. Who had spent her life trying to protect him from Odin.

“But... why?” he gasped.

He whirled back around on the Lady of Vanaheim, expecting more answers. But all he got was a mournful shake of her dark head. “That, my prince, I do not know.”

* * *

He once again left Freya’s tent in an uncomfortable hurry, and found Heimdall some miles away from the encampment, tracking a herd of deer. Heimdall was waiting for him, of course. “The day Odin found me on Jotunheim, watcher. You must have seen it happen.”

“I did.”

“What was your first sight of me?”

“You were alone, my prince. In a sea of corpses.”

“What happened, watcher? What _truly_ happened? Why did he go into the ruined Jotunn temple?”

“It is the custom of the Frost Giants to hide their most valuable treasures in their most sacred places. They also use their temples as places of refuge. The Allfather knew this.”

“How did he know? Was it common knowledge in those days?”

Heimdall looked at him sadly. “He was informed.” Loki went rigid. “The crown’s eyes were everywhere. Odin entered the temple armed. He cut down the few survivors he found. And then...”

“And then,” said Loki, a cold rage beginning to overtake him, “he found a baby. A too-small, suffering, abandoned baby.”

“Not abandoned. Not intentionally.”

“ _Why?_ Why did he take me? It couldn’t have been to build an _alliance_ – if that was true, he would have told me my heritage when I was a child, or at least when I reached my majority. So what was his reason?”

“I can only see things as they occur. I have no insight into people’s hearts or minds as they do the things they do. He knew from the Koronaugu that Laufey had sired a son, and a prince of Jotunheim would have made a useful hostage for Laufey’s good behavior. But there were rumors that the boy was... strange. Powerful. Possessed of talents that no newborn child should have.”

Loki could well believe that. All his life, and especially in his childhood, he had heard those same rumors. He swallowed the scream building in his throat. “So he learned from Frigga what I was, and where to find me. And he murdered my caretakers, just to steal me away.”

Heimdall’s voice was low, heavy with the weariness of thousands of years of watching and saying nothing. “Yes.” Then, “He looked, and so did I, but none of the dead appeared richly dressed enough to be the Jotunn queen.”

The Jotunn queen.

Loki had spent so much time trying and failing to convince himself that Frigga was not his mother, and hating both Odin and Laufey for being his father, that until Heimdall’s calm, measured words, there had never been a chance for him to fully conceptualize that he must had had a Jotunn mother as well. Even when Freya had told him, he had thrust the truth away from his mind and held it at bay, refusing to think about it.

And now, he did not even have that luxury. “And... did the Jotunn queen survive the attack?”

“She did. When she and Laufey could not find you, they assumed you had been kidnapped by Odin’s troops and thrown to the wolves. They mourned for you.” Heimdall made a small gesture with his hands, a futile sort of gesture, as though he was done keeping the dead’s secrets. “She mourns for you still. She goes to the ruined temple and prays for your soul. She doesn’t use your Asgardian name, but I know who she prays for.”

It was too much. Loki fled before Heimdall could tell him what his Jotunn name had been.

* * *

Thor found Loki in his tent, sitting on his bed with his legs drawn up to his chest, his chin on his knees. It was a posture he had often taken as a small boy, running away to hide under tables in the library or beneath hedges in the queen’s private garden. But for the deputy to a king, there were very few places to hide.

“Brother,” said Thor cautiously, drawing further into the tent.

Loki said nothing, but turned his head to rest his cheek where his chin had been. His brilliant green eyes seemed very dim. To Thor’s shock, there were tear tracks on his face.

“Heimdall told me to come find you. What’s happened?” Thor sat down and put his arm around his brother’s shoulders. Loki made no move to push him away, which only added to his growing concern. “Loki, please. I cannot help you if you will not speak.”

“There’s nothing you can do. It’s done.”

“What is?” Thor pressed. “This is the second time you have emerged from a private meeting with Councilor Freya and been disturbed.”

Loki snorted softly. “Last time I was disturbed. This time you find me weeping like the orphaned child I am.”

“Has she hurt you?” Thor asked bluntly.

“She told me the truth. The hurt was there from the beginning.” Loki sat up, wiping his face on his sleeve. “She knew my mother.”

“That is... not surprising. She is a member of Vanir’s elite, I would be shocked if she had never met Mother—”

“Not _our_ mother. _My_ mother. The Frost Giant who gave birth to me. Laufey’s queen.”

Thor did not know what he could say to that, but Loki did not seem to require a response. If anything, he preferred Thor's silence. “She knew my birth mother, was friends with her, before Odin closed the outer pathways between the realms. And then I spoke to Heimdall. He knew, all the time, what I was.”

Of course he must have, Thor realized, cursing himself for a fool.

“Father told me that he found me as a baby, abandoned in a Jotunn temple. He told me, from his own lips, that I was Laufey’s son. Thor, how did he know?”

“I... I never... oh no. Damn. No. He loved you.”

“That doesn’t matter! He knew who I was,” Loki said, choking with anger, and the tears coming a-fresh. “He knew who and what I was: Laufey’s heir, the strange small Frost Giant baby with powers I shouldn’t have. He went _looking_ for me, and killed the Jotnar who were left in the temple to protect me. Laufey’s queen wasn’t there, but if she had been?” Loki drew in a shuddering breath as he struggled to keep his calm. “The day he told me, I accused him of treating me as little more than a stolen relic. I was more right than I knew. He may have come to love me, by the end, but the truth is what it is: he _kidnapped_ me.” He bit his lower lip so hard, Thor saw a trickle of blood. “And Mother told him where to find me.”

He turned and buried his face in Thor’s shoulder, as his lean body was wracked with the fresh betrayal. And all Thor could do was hold him close, crying his own quiet tears.


	25. Fragility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has some angry questions for Freya. Valkyrie has some uneasy reminders of Loki's true nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“He’s asleep,” Valkyrie said, ducking under the flap of Thor’s pavilion. “It took a while. Too exhausted to let himself close his eyes.”

Thor nodded once. “Thank you for going to him,” he murmured, and lapsed back into thought. Valkyrie looked at him for a moment, sitting hunched over at the center table strewn with maps, charts, datapads, and manifests, and ignoring them all, his fingers tented before his lips. Then she went to the sideboard and poured herself a drink.

“Did you know?”

“No,” said Valkyrie shortly. She drank thirstily, though the good Vanir cider was like sawdust in her mouth. “I told you already, I never even knew Odin was married, let alone that he’d married a spy and had sons. When I left, he was alone on the throne, apart from Hela. But I was gone before the last war with Jotunheim.”

“But the revelations don’t shock you.”

“No, your majesty, I really can’t say that they do.” Her fingers tightened around the metal goblet, leaving dents. “I don’t know what kind of father Odin was to you personally, but from what the prince has told me... well, none of it really surprises me. I knew Odin’s firstborn, remember. And fought alongside her, before she turned traitor. She was just like her old man, and Loki’s an awful lot like him, too.”

“Have you told him that?”

“I did make that mistake, yes. He wasn’t too pleased with me. But he’s far more well-balanced than Hela ever was. Well,” she amended, at Thor’s incredulous look. “Less single-mindedly psychotic.”

“You should’ve seen him a few years ago... He always wanted to impress Father, but he never could. It’s terrible to think that all that time, he was struggling against so many prejudices that he never knew of. He adored Father, when we were boys. Idolized him, wanted to be just like him. Not just as a king, but as a man. And then when that adoration turned to resentment, I suppose it was too late for him to change.”

Thor cast his mind back, trying to remember Loki as he had been in their early youth, bright and laughing and playful, but with the core of determination and preternatural patience underpinning everything he did, all with the goal of proving himself more than merely Odin’s small second son. The memories were there, but very faint, overwritten by later times when the playfulness had fallen to less innocent amusement, and the persistent patience subsumed by cunning and occasional explosive rages of frustration. He had been chafing at his restraints, Thor saw now, with a clarity he could attribute only to time and pain, and resenting the flowers and plaudits lavished on his elder brother. Loki had received so little praise for all the work he had done, as a scholar and a patron of education and the arts, and as a warrior prince defending the realm, but there was much that Thor would never have been able to accomplish without him.

“It’s strange,” Thor mused aloud, “but now that they’re both gone, I find he reminds me more of Frigga, than of Odin. Her work as queen was always done where none could see it, and she received much love from the court but so little real recognition. She _ruled_ , when Father was away, but there were never any stories of Queen Frigga’s gallantry in defense of Asgard. And Loki is the same, though I hope that is changing. But for all he laments being in my shadow, when I try to push him into the light, he recoils and clings more tightly to his place.”

He pondered that for another moment or two, and then gripped the arms of his chair firmly and stood up. “I think it’s time Councilor Freya and I had a serious discussion about her treatment of my brother.”

“Do you want backup?”

“I’ll take Sif. Will you stay with Loki? I don’t think he would tolerate anyone else’s presence, upon waking.” Valkyrie hesitated for a second, and then nodded her assent. Thor gripped her shoulder firmly. “Thank you. For... well. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I still might decide that he’s too much trouble.” But there was no heat in her words, and Thor only smiled.

* * *

As aware as he was that diplomacy was vital and his people’s survival might well hang in the balance, Thor could articulate only one clear thought to the Lady of Vanaheim: “What the _hell_ were you thinking, Councilor?” he thundered, the moment he was granted admittance to her tent. The granddaughter, Brynja, had tried to bar him and Sif from entering, but Freya ordered her to stand down. Clearly, she had been expecting his visit. “How dare you attack my brother in so underhanded a way?”

“Attack?” Freya retorted. “I did nothing but what his own family never bothered to do. I told him the truth.”

“To what purpose? How is the middle of a delicate trade negotiation the appropriate time to bring a mountain of dark family secrets crashing down on a man’s head?” Thor took an enraged step forward and was immediately facing a very angry Brynja.

“You will go no further, Odinson.”

Her tone took him aback, and for a moment, his rage ebbed in the face of his confusion. He had never heard a Vanir speak to him thus, as though his patronymic was the most vile of curses. And the look on Brynja’s face, as though she wished to tear out his heart... “What did my father do to you?” he murmured.

“No worse than he did to your brother,” she replied, equally softly, her voice filled with hate.

“That’s enough,” said Freya sharply. “Brynja, go.”

“But Grandmother—”

“These Asgardians will not harm me, girl. Go, before you cause more trouble.”

Brynja put up her sword with a snarl and stormed from the tent, barely stopping to let Sif step out of the way. Thor glanced over his shoulder, and though she quickly schooled her face to a warrior’s calm, he saw the brief look of shock. Sif was as shaken by the young Vanir’s venom as he was.

“Forgive me my kin,” Freya said, with a dry sort of despair that reminded Thor of his mother. “She has... much rage within her.”

“As does my brother. As do I, at this moment. And I ask you again, Councilor: _why_ did you provoke Loki? If you wished merely to tell him the truth of his origins, and of our father’s crimes, why do so in this way? You could have told us together.”

“He would not have thanked me for that, I think.”

“He does not thank you now. Why did you do this thing in this way?”

Her eyes were as dark as the sea at night, and just as unfathomable. “Perhaps I have great anger, too, Thor, son of Odin. And that it was directed at someone who is as much a victim as I am of your family’s bloodlust is... not to my credit. I must beg the prince’s pardon,” she admitted, bowing her head slightly. “But it was never my intent to affect the negotiations. I am not one to stoop so low as that.”

And though Thor tried, he got nothing more out of her. In the end, he and Sif had to withdraw.

“She’s not telling us something,” he muttered, as they walked back to his pavilion in the growing dusk. “I am so wearied with secrets... and a whole day wasted. We’re still going to be here when the snow flies, at this rate.”

Sif nudged her shoulder against his arm. Thor took the unspoken hint and drew her against his side. Her strength and her warmth felt good there.

* * *

There wasn’t much that Valkyrie could do for Loki while he slept, but Thor wanted someone to be there when he woke up, so she hung around the prince’s tent, doing her best to be quiet and to not drink too much, because she had retained enough of her old training to know that trying to care for someone while drunk was a terrible idea.

Of course, there wasn’t much else to do in Loki's tent besides drink. She nibbled at the food that had been sent in for her, read over some training reports from Korg and Heimdall, and tried to doze. Part of her wanted to creep into bed with him and hold him, but another, less sentimental part of her makeup, recoiled. Loki was used to her touch now, but he had never before permitted himself to fall asleep in her presence, and she couldn't run the risk of him waking up in her arms and having a full-blown panic attack.

Especially as the afternoon wore on, and she finally saw _why_ , when she looked up from the training schedule she was creating and saw Loki stirring slightly, as though about to turn over in his sleep. Then, as she watched, he let out a deep, groaning sigh, and the illusion of his Asgardian appearance simply fell away, like snow from a mountainside.

For a moment, all Valkyrie could do was stare at him in open-mouthed shock. She _knew_ , of course. Everyone knew now, whether or not they actually believed it. And she had believed it... but she hadn’t really thought about what it meant, or what he would look like.

It had been centuries since she’d seen a Frost Giant, and the last one she had seen lying down had been about three feet taller and in a pool of its own blood. Once they were dead, she stopped paying attention to them.

She set the report down noiselessly on the table and slipped out of her chair, creeping towards Loki’s bed as though she was about to ambush an enemy. In a way, in a very literal way, she was.

His skin was the pale, fragile blue of the midday sky in the depths of winter, and his face was marked with the lines that indicated what clan he had been born to. But they were so much more delicate than any Valkyrie had seen before, and she didn’t recognize the pattern at all.

A lock of his anthracite hair fell over his face, and she realized abruptly that she had never seen a Frost Giant with hair, either.

_What are you, Lackey? Do you even know? Does anyone know?_

And she wondered uncomfortably if her joke to Sif, about how the Borsons hadn’t produced nearly enough bastards for royal princes, might have had more to refute it than she’d realized. But even that explanation made no sense. No one had ever claimed that Loki was not of Laufey’s get. And Jotunn clan markings were passed down through the mother’s line.

Frowning and in a swell of confusion, Valkyrie went back to her seat, and tried to refocus her mind on her reports.

It was another hour or so before Loki woke, which he did not by movement, but with a single horrified, “Oh, shit.”

He locked eyes with Valkyrie and she caught a fleeting glimpse of revulsion in the ruby-red eyes, before he rolled over in bed with his back to her, curling into a tight ball. “Get out.”

She stood up and, with slow, deliberate steps, walked across the tent, and sat on the edge of his bed, in the hollow made by his drawn-up legs. She felt his muscles tense as though he intended to kick her.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“What can you do to me?” Valkyrie laid a hand on his arm, but he flinched away as though burned. “You’re completely spent. If you weren’t, you could put the illusions back. But you’ve got nothing left.”

“I’m still strong enough to throw you out.”

“Once, maybe. Twice? Like hell.” Quickly, she turned and twisted over his legs so that she was lying in front of him. Growling, he flipped over again.

“So tell me. How many Frost Giants did you kill, when you were riding at Odin’s side?”

“I didn’t keep track.” She reached out and stroked her fingertips through his hair. He was like a cat for being petted, but instead of relaxing him, her touch only served to make him curl tighter into himself. “It was a lot.”

“I don’t want your _pity_.”

“I don’t have room in my life for pity, Lackey.” Valkyrie ran her hand down the length of his hair, and curled her fingers into the ends of the strands. When she tugged, he rolled over, the response as trained as a horse to a bridle, and as automatic as breathing. He started to sneer something, probably about being no better than a pet, but before he could get the words out, she kissed him. It was awkward, because of their prone positions, and not well-aimed, but it shocked him into silence.

“Don’t,” she muttered, when they broke for breath and he tried to speak again. “Whatever you think is going on in my head right now, you’re wrong. You’re not a monster – or if you are, then we all are. You’re angry and you’re tired, and I want so badly to go out there and beat that Vanir bitch into a bloody pulp for doing this to you.” She grabbed his shoulders and forced him onto his back, and straddled his hips.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“You need energy, more than you’re getting from the realm.”

“You can’t seriously be offering...” But she was already unfastening his leather tunic.

“Don’t,” Valkyrie said, nipping his lower lip when he would have suggesting simply shifting away the clothing, as he usually did. “Let me do this. I want to see... I want to _reveal_ you.”

He shuddered under her touch. “Why would... why?”

She laid his chest bare, blue skin and clan markings and Kursed scar gone angry and purple again, and sat up to remove her tabard. “You need this,” she murmured, bending over him like a shield and pressing her breasts to his too-warm chest, and relishing the sharp gasp the touch tore from his throat. “So do I.”


	26. A Good Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki regroups, and the Valkyrie is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter today, as I have _~other things~_ to write. :D 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“You weren’t frightened,” Loki murmured sleepily against her collarbone, as they lay together not in their usual post-coitus position, with Valkyrie on his chest, but on their sides facing one another, with Loki curled into her. 

“I’ve never been scared of you. Asgardian or otherwise. Pissed off, yes. But scared?” She smiled and kissed what she could see of his forehead. He wasn’t strong enough yet to shift back, and his skin was still blue, but he wasn’t hiding from her – he was taking strength from her, which was what she wanted. “You’re not enough to scare me.” 

“...I feel as though I should be offended by that.” 

“That’s up to you, Lackey.”

“It’s Loki,” he retorted reflexively, but without any real bite to it. His hand crept tentatively over her hipbone. “I meant... when Thor and I went to Jotunheim, we discovered that the touch of a Frost Giant is death to Asgardian flesh. Why weren’t you afraid to lie with me now?”

She ran a fingernail up the raised lines flanking his spine, and relished his sudden shiver. “You looking Asgardian is just an illusion. It smooths out your appearance but it doesn’t change your blood. You’ve always felt too warm, almost feverish – and Jotnar are very hot-blooded. They have to be, to survive in that place. But just touching you has never hurt me.” 

Loki digested this information for a moment, then turned his head slightly to trail light, thoughtful kisses from her clavicle to her throat. Valkyrie hummed with pleasure. “When I was imprisoned, after Midgard, my mother sent me book after book to help me while away the time. I was down there for a year before Thor freed me. It didn’t escape my notice that many of the texts she sent were copies of old manuscripts about Jotunheim and its people. Many were from long before the Winter War – no doubt heavily edited to remove all mention of Hela or Odin’s wars of conquest. I ignored most of them. I... resented her trying to force me to accept my true parentage, when it was plain that no one else had. But I flipped through one or two, biology texts, mostly. I seem to remember that the ice-touch was an instinctive defense mechanism of Frost Giant young. It’s something they outgrow, and if they aren’t trained in it, eventually they lose the ability. No doubt I’m long since past the age of learning to do anything useful with my blood.” 

“Would you want to?” Valkyrie asked, after a moment. 

“I think she would have wanted me to.” 

“Frigga.”

Loki kissed her lips briefly and rolled onto his back, folding his hands behind his head. The blankets were pulled up over his waist; he still wasn’t ready to see _all_ of what he looked like, though Valkyrie had noticed nothing different and had no complaints. “She will always be my mother. I will always be an Odinson, that is my burden to help Thor bear, but... Frigga will always be my mother. No matter her crimes.” 

He closed his eyes against a swell of new tears. Valkyrie reached out and laid a hand over the scar below his breastbone, feeling the swirls and currents of energy as they gathered. “For what it’s worth,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “Thrud told me once that the Koronaugu’s biggest regret was that they couldn’t control what the king did with the information they brought. And news of an enemy king’s newborn heir is pretty standard stuff, as intelligence-gathering goes.” 

“Yes.” Without opening his eyes, Loki laid his hand over hers. “It was my mother’s greatest weakness, her love for her husband. She would argue, she would rage, she would weave her cunning where he did not look, but... she loved him. She believed in him. If taking me was what he chose to do with the fruits of her labors, she might have objected, but she would never disobey.” 

“You still think loving someone is a weakness?” 

“I believe that sentiment is the greatest weakness of all. And I am learning... that if we do not question what we love, we are as the blind being coaxed over a cliff.”

“Frigga loved you.” 

“And look how that turned out.” 

“I love you.”

Loki husked out a laugh and squeezed her hand. “Likewise. But you and I do nothing but suspect each other and fight and then fall into bed together. I think we’ll be fine.”

“I’d like to think we do a _little_ bit more than that,” said Valkyrie dryly. 

He cracked an eyelid to look at her uncertainly. “I... that is—” 

“Brun?” A knock on the frame of his tent followed Sif’s voice. “Is Loki awake?”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow; Loki nodded. “Yes, he is.”

“Is he well? May I enter?”

“I would prefer if you didn’t, Sif,” said Loki, his good mood gone and his body going tense in preparation for hiding, if he had to. 

“As you like. I wanted to check on you. After what happened... I was concerned.”

“...Thank you?” He looked so perplexed, Valkyrie had to stifle a giggle in his shoulder. 

Sif shifted her weight on the grass outside the tent’s door. “Loki, I cannot... begin to express my outrage over what happened. Freya had no right to spring such terrible truths on you, and at such a moment. It was dishonorable and underhanded, and you deserve better.”

His eyes went wide, but he tried to laugh it off. “Better? I would say that I have much to learn from the Lady of Vanaheim. If I’d been in possession of such damning information, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. Honor has very little place in anything I do.”

“But the Vanir pride themselves on it,” Sif reminded him. “And Asgard does as well, or claims to. And you are a son of Asgard, and must not be treated like this.”

Loki’s eyes slid shut once more, and Valkyrie saw his throat and jaw tightening against a sudden onslaught of emotion. “Thank you,” he whispered, too softly for Sif to hear. Then, more loudly, “I thank you, Lady Sif, for your concern. It is... very much appreciated.”

“You are my friend,” she said simply. “And you are my prince, and I am still loyal to the throne of Asgard. I will not allow my prince to be so misused.”

“Even if that throne is now a lounge chair, and you are in the lap of the king?”

“Even then. Though I would not speak to who is in who’s lap.”

“Ah,” said Loki, mouth spreading into a wide, deliciously evil grin, “now that’s the Sif I remember. Tell Thor not to come by tonight; I’m tired. But I will see him in the morning.”

“I will tell him. Sleep well.”

“I wonder if I’m not still sleeping,” he muttered, when she had gone. “Everything about this day feels like some bizarre dream. Freya, Sif... you.”

“If I’m what you dream of, prince, you’ve got more problems than I can help you with.” Reluctantly, Valkyrie pulled her hand away from his chest. “I should get back to my own tent. Let you sleep.”

But he caught her wrist as she started to rise. “Brun. Stay. Please.” His tongue snaked out to lick his lips nervously. “You’ve already seen what I was afraid of. And I...” He struggled with the words, as a man might when he was accustomed to a lifetime of asking and striving and being denied. “Need you.” 

She froze, as a brief flash of blinding panic ran through her like a blade. It was too much, too soon, and she didn’t _want_ to be needed, and not by this confused abandoned princeling. Needing was a burden, needing was a trap, needing was pain... 

A good pain. 

“Then I’ll stay,” she promised. She hesitated for a second, and then kissed the hand he had wrapped around her wrist. “But I could do with a drink first.”


	27. Accustomed Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor tries to cling to the people he has left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“Your brother is well. He says he’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good.” The blankets rustled in the darkness. “Come to bed, Sif.”

She undressed and cuddled up against the hard warmth of his body, molding her form to his. Thor’s arms and hands found their accustomed places, as did hers. Strange, how quickly they had adjusted to being bedfellows.

To being lovers.

His thoughts were apparently traveling much the same trail. “My parents would be so pleased by this development,” Thor murmured, his sleepy voice tinged with amusement.

“Your father would, at least. I’ve long suspected that the queen once wanted me to pair with your brother. But that was before his marriage.”

Thor rumbled good-humoredly into the back of her neck and drifted back into the half-sleep that seemed to be his natural nighttime state now. But the mention of Frigga tugged Sif’s mind in a different direction.

“Thor?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you... I am not presuming anything with this question. I wish that to be clear. But would you demand your wife obey you as a husband, as a subject to a king?”

Her question brought him to full wakefulness, and the darkness suddenly felt very heavy to Sif as he took a moment to formulate his answer.

“Once, perhaps, I might have followed my father in this, as in all things,” he said slowly.” But after all that has come to light, now I begin to think that there is too much power in my hands, as sole king of Asgard. If I marry – _when_ I marry – my queen shall be my partner in ruling as well as in life. Or there will be no queen at all.”

Some of the tension in Sif’s body melted away. “That is very fortunate for your future wife,” she murmured, brushing her lips over his bicep. “When did you become so wise?”

“I’d hardly call this wisdom. Knuckling down under reality, more like. But perhaps the two go hand-in-hand. Wisdom and common sense.”

“Common sense, I understand. But I doubt I will ever be wise. I will leave that to you.”

With her back pressed to his chest, she felt his breathing stutter. “And will common sense walk hand-in-hand with me?”

Sif’s fingers, which had been idly stroking the back of his hand, stilled abruptly. Surely she had dozed off and was dreaming. He could not be asking... “Thor, we’ve barely been together a week.”

“I know, I know. But I am asking you to _consider_. We’ve known each other since we were children, and loved each other as friends for that long. There’s no one here who knows me as well, or that I trust as much.”

“Except your brother.” Who would doubtless crow and smirk to the heavens if his matchmaking came to fruition so soon.

“You know what I mean,” said Thor softly. “I know I said I wanted to try, to see if we could be something more, but we are already so much to each other. We have fought and bled together, laughed and wept and mourned. We’ve gotten drunk together, and tended each other’s wounds. And you... comfort me, Sif. We fit together. We always have.”

Her heart suddenly felt too uncomfortably large for her body. She turned over and pressed her forehead to his. She could not see in the darkened tent, but she could feel his lips on her face, and trace the new lines scoring his cheeks and brow. “Do you need that comfort so badly, my lord?” And she shivered a little when he threaded his hand into her hair.

“I’ve lost so many people,” he said, his voice husky and low and lost. “My family, my friends... and you’ve lost the same. And no matter how things go from here on out, we’re still going to lose people after we get to Earth. And maybe I want to keep you with me, and keep me with you.”

Sif felt tears burning in her eyes, and in the forgiving safety of the dark, she let them fall freely. “You will not lose me, Thor,” she vowed. “And Norns help any who try to take me from you now. As to the rest... give me a little time.”

“As much time as you need,” he promised, drawing her close and cradling her like something rare and treasured.

* * *

“You have to let me do this,” Loki insisted, the following morning.

“Uh, no, I actually don’t. King, remember?”

Loki, now with his Aesir image fully restored, leveled a familiar scowl at his brother. “Don’t try that with me yet, I’ve still got four years’ seniority on you in this job.”

“Sorry,” said Thor, mostly sincerely.

“Besides, there’s no one left to actually handle the negotiations, unless you’d like to try dealing with economic minutiae on your own – oh wait, you skipped those lessons to go out drinking with The Wastrels Three.”

“Hey!”

Loki leaned his knuckles on the table and glared at him for a moment, refusing to retract the insult. “All right,” Thor conceded. “I was a stupid, stupid kid.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t understand what being king would really mean.”

“ _And?_ ”

“And don’t push your luck.” He gave Loki a moment or two to punch the table and pace the tent irritably, like a caged animal. “I’m starting to wonder if we should give up on trading with Vanaheim. Pack up, leave, save our scavenged minerals for some other trading opportunity.”

“No. Fuck you, no. Absolutely not.”

“Loki, you have been emotionally _attacked_. You’re not thinking clearly. If there’s no one else with the ability to be our trade delegate, then there’s no trade possible. I’m not going to let you—”

“Thor, let me make one thing crystal-clear: I am going back to that negotiating table. I am going to handle Councilor Freya. And I am going to clinch this deal if it kills me.”

“We don’t have time to soothe your wounded pride.”

“This isn’t about _pride_!” Loki snapped.

“Then what?” Thor retorted, not believing him for a moment. “Damn it, I am trying to protect you.”

“And what if I don’t want your protection, Thor? What if I don’t need to be sheltered and coddled and treated as though I’m some broken child?” His eyes snapped green fire. “I never wanted your _protection_ , brother, I wanted your _respect_. So either you trust me, or you do not. And either you are afraid of me... or you are not. And if you’re not afraid of me, and if you trust me as much as you claim to, then for mercy’s sake, your majesty: _get out of my way_.”

Thor raised a hand sharply, and for a second Loki made as though to duck, to avoid a sudden blow. But the hand that grasped the side of his neck was gentle. “I do trust you. I do not fear you. I thought the world of you. I still do. It’s _why_ I want to protect you.”

“The time for being an over-protective big brother is long past,” said Loki tightly. But he leaned into Thor’s hand for a second before pushing him away. “And we have people to feed. An issue we should address quickly, before Freya decides we’ve overstayed our welcome and sends her brother with troops to boot us from the realm.”

“To tell the truth,” said Thor dryly, “I’d trust you with Freyr more than with his sister. He always liked you very much. _Very_ much. If King Njord had sent him instead, we’d have had half of Vanaheim’s food supply in our cargo holds and been on our way by now.”

Loki refused to blush. “Well, the best diplomacy happens at night... Though, now that you mention it,” he continued, with a frown, “I’m a little surprised that Freya was sent, instead of Freyr. He knows us. But instead, Njord sent someone we’ve never met before, let alone handled delicate discussions with.”

Thor suppressed a reflexive smile, because it was something he had been pondering for the last week, and the fact that it had only occurred to Loki now made him feel a bit smug. But that wasn’t entirely fair. Loki’s mind had been on a variety of other things. “All the more reason for you to have reinforcements, when next you meet with Freya.”

“Ugh, _fine_. Is it to be Sif or the Valkyrie? Or perhaps even Heimdall?”

“Your ward wishes to accompany you.”

“I said no last night, and I am saying it again.”

“It’s her request.”

“Then I’m denying it.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not her father.”

“Neither are you,” Thor nearly said, but held back at the last second. It was no fault of Loki’s that he wasn’t, either by blood or by rearing. He had wanted to be the one, and he had tried to be the other. “All this, after yelling at me for being over-protective?” Thor said instead. “Why are you so determined to shield her from this? If you intend for her to become proficient in her work, she needs to learn somehow. And there aren’t many opportunities for her, at the moment.”

“This is not an opportunity. This needs to be a slaughter. Metaphorically,” he added, when Thor scowled. “And she doesn’t need to be there for that.”

“She’s a grown woman. You’re not helping her by protecting her from the darkness our people inflicted on other realms. We have to break that cycle, Loki.”

“I’m not talking about what Asgard did to Vanaheim or what Odin did to me. I’m talking about _me_ , Thor, about protecting Lyka from _my_ darkness. With her, I’m the man I was when she was a child. I have to be. She deserves nothing less. But for Freya, I have to be the man I am now. Because who I was, six hundred years ago? Freya would burn him to a cinder.” Loki’s voice was soft, almost menacing, but his eyes pleaded with the king. “I do not want my child to see the man I’ve become.”

Thor looked at him for a long moment. “I will speak with Lyka again, and alone, before I make my decision. Regardless, you _will_ have a second when next you meet with Councilor Freya.”

Loki’s face was like marble. “As you command, my king,” he said softly, and stormed from the pavilion.


	28. Tactical Advantages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lady of Vanaheim conspires, and Loki's ward gives him a talking-to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note: I'm taking Christmas Day off from updating this story, so after tomorrow's chapter, I'll be back on Tuesday. 
> 
> An enormous thank you for sticking around and reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Though the summer day was warm, inside the Lady of Vanaheim’s tent, a small fire was burning. It helped her, to have fire with which to meditate upon her thoughts. And that day, her thoughts were dour. “This is all going wrong,” she murmured, gazing into the brazier. “Everything. And it is my fault. I’ve fouled everything up.”

“You couldn’t have have anticipated—” Brynja began, but Freya silenced her with a look.

“That is my sole task,” she snapped, “to anticipate. To foresee and to adapt. And I failed. I took the wrong tactic with the prince. I knew of his madness, but it is years in the past, and I thought... I expected him to be more curious about his true origins. I thought he would be willing to learn more. But his loathing goes deeper than that. I pushed him too far and now he will be on guard against me.” She laughed softly. “Most understandably.”

“I’m glad you understand, Grandmother, because _I_ am still very much in the dark. Why is he so important?”

“You know why. Odin destroyed the portals between this realm and Jotunheim long ago. I have been trying to reopen them since before you were born, to no avail. But he walks the unseen paths with ease. There is power in his bloodline that no one here possesses. He is the only one who can recreate the portals.”

“No, it’s... there’s something more than that.” Brynja’s eyes were Freya’s eyes, and they bored into the Lady of Vanaheim, seeking the truth that she would not give. “Fine, keep your secrets. But I think you are wrong in trying to make an ally of him. If he hates the Frost Giants so much, nothing you say or do will convince him to help you. And regardless of his blood, he is Asgardian. He and the king will not think kindly of Vanaheim and Jotunheim reestablishing their old alliances and becoming more powerful than Asgard.”

Freya snorted. “A good-sized herd of cattle would be more powerful than Asgard, at the present moment. All that is left of Asgard stands in a field the size of my father’s private garden in the city. It is why they are, after all. All they have left is their pride. Their pride and their blood and two mismatched brothers for leaders.”

“Mismatched or not, they are still strong. They defeated the daughter of the King of Monsters, and speak of it as though it were nothing but a family squabble.”

“In public, perhaps.”

“This is pointless, bartering dried fish for something so precious. We need more leverage.”

“When you are looking ahead to a time when you may have to feed five thousand people on nothing, even dried fish can be treasures. But what would you suggest?”

“That we be more forceful in our tactics. We should kidnap his wards and hold them for ransom. They shouldn’t put up too much of a fight.”

“Absolutely not. But thank you for the input.” Freya’s rejection was almost fond. “That sounds like something your grandfather would have said. You have so much of him in you, child.” She turned back to her contemplation of the little charcoal brazier. “This was a mistake. The king should not have sent me to deal with the Asgardians. My brother is the one who has always dealt with them, and with the Odinsons in particular. I always absented myself from court when they turned up. And kept my daughters away from them as well,” she added, with a pointed roll of her eyes. “I have no experience in dealing with them, and that lack is making itself all too obvious.”

“You know why Njord sent you. Because Loki knows Freyr too well. Loki would have seduced him as he always does, if the stories are true, and before we knew it, Freyr would have given away the entire realm.”

“Loki is not called ‘Silvertongue’ for nothing,” said Freya dryly. “Those stories were likely picked clean for your ears, because there is a great deal more than truth in them. Certainly Loki would have preferred dealing with Freyr to dealing with me.” She passed a hand over the embers of charcoal in the brazier, and for a few moments, the fire flared with a pale red light. Freya gazed into the flames, frowning, and then waved her hand again to return the coals to their normal state. “But Freyr is not here, and I might find a way to mend the tears I have caused.”

“Odin’s sons have always been known as prideful men. Can the damage be mended? Because if it cannot, only say the word. I’m not averse to a little light abduction, and this place is starting to get boring—”

“I said no.”

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the ship (it was officially designated as ‘The Statesman’, but while everyone had agreed that it was a stupid name, there had been no consensus on what to _re_ name it. Thor had told Korg to come up with a list, when he had time), Loki worked in solitude. He had taken steps early on to create a small secret workroom tucked away at the end of the twisting, turning channels in the ship’s maintenance decks. It was a shadow of the study and laboratory he’d had on Asgard, but at least it was more advanced that what he had seen in the S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities during his time on Earth, and more than capable of handling experiments using both science and seidr. There were new and different concoctions to develop, to keep Bruce as Bruce and keep the beast at bay, and a way to unlock Lyka and Thialfi’s magic to find, and ways to strengthen his own magic away from planetary energy fields and how to find new unseen paths that would hopefully be large enough to fly a ship though... All of which, he needed quiet and privacy to discover.

It wasn’t as unseeable as he would have liked. A pocket dimension would have been preferable, but he was nowhere near strong enough to hide an entire room. As it was, to keep the wards up and do the experiments he needed to do, he has to relinquish his hold on his Asgardian appearance. But he had power enough to use minor wards and charms to misdirect any lost or curious wanderer from finding his hidden work space.

Or so he thought.

“Hello? Uncle?”

Loki nearly dropped the vial he was scrying over.

“I know you’re there...”

“I – no, wait!” He set the vial down quickly and tried to hide himself, to block the door. But it was no use. Lyka pushed the concealment spell aside as though it was made of paper, and then stopped short when she saw him. “Oh!”

He strangled his first impulse, which was to hurl something at her and roar at her to get out, and instead turned around sharply. Thor might deserve that, but not Lyka. “How did you even _find_ me?” he demanded, and winced to hear his voice shake.

“I wanted to talk to you,” said Lyka uncertainly, “and Heimdall said he saw you come on-board the ship, so I just... I don’t really know, thought about finding you. And then it was as though there was a rope tied around my waist, tugging me towards you.”

“Magic calling out to itself,” he murmured. “Perhaps you’re more sensitive than I’d first suspected... but whatever you needed to speak to me about, surely it can wait until I’m less indisposed...”

“I know what you are,” she said, with quiet reproach. “It’s no secret anymore.” Lyka reached for his hand, and when he felt her fingers on his, he turned, haltingly, with a frightened, childlike expression. “You don’t have to hide from me, Uncle,” she said. Her voice wavered a little, but her grip was firm and sure, and her gaze didn’t dart away in terror from his face.

“I... you can’t—oh,” he groaned suddenly, clamping his eyes shut as the room suddenly started to swim before his eyes.

“Sit down,” Lyka all but ordered. “You need to rest.”

His head spinning, Loki did as he was bid, ashamed to be seen at such a low ebb, and by someone whom he was supposed to be strong enough to protect, but strangely glad that she was there. “Why do you care so much about me?” he asked, as she sat beside him on the cold metal floor. “You hardly even know me. Before last week, we hadn’t seen each other in centuries. So why? Is it simply because I’m all you and Thialfi have left?”

She shook her head. “Because we got you back. We lost Papa, and Mother, and Sigyn, and all of our tutors and servants, but we got _you_ back.”

“I got you back,” Loki grinned.

“We thought you were dead, but we got you back, and you came looking for us. No one’s ever come looking for us. We’ve—” Her voice hitched a little. “No one’s ever wanted us enough to come looking for us before. Not like this.”

She leaned against his shoulder, curling into him as instinctively as she had done when she was no longer than his forearm. “My girl," he murmured roughly, holding her close. “I never wanted to leave you.”

Lyka let out a deep sigh. “It would have happened sooner or later. Thialfi and I... even when we were surrounded with caretakers, it always seemed like we would one day have to go it alone.” Loki closed his eyes against a sharp, familiar stab, but before he could speak, she continued. “I hate to say it, but... I don’t think Mother would have handled the revelation of your parentage all that well.”

“I can’t really hold that against anyone. I didn’t handle it at all well.”

“Thialfi and I saw some of the memorial plays, you know, after we came to the city.”

“Ah yes,” Loki snorted, refusing to consider that she and her brother had dealt with the tales of both of his deaths, alone, and then seen his ridiculous plays about it. “My great literary masterpieces.”

“You _wrote_ them?”

“Most of them, the ones that played in the capital, at least. There were others out in the provinces that were even less accurate.” He twitched his shoulder in a shrug. “Being king while pretending to be a different king was lonely and boring. I needed something to do.”

“Is the bit about you being the Jotunn king’s son true?”

“...Yes.”

“Are you... are you angry with her?”

He rested his cheek against her pale hair. She smelled like herb soap and wood smoke, and the scents seemed to soothe the throbbing in his head. Or perhaps it was simply her presence. “Who, specifically?”

“The queen. For not telling you.”

Loki drew in a slow breath as he considered his answer. “No,” he said, at last. “I am feeling many unpleasant and complicated things towards my mother right now, and anger is certainly one of them, but... anger over that secret... I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she would have told me, had she been allowed.” His long fingers toyed gently with the end of Lyka’s braid, as he had centuries ago, when she was small and her hair nearly touched the floor. “She was Odin’s wife, but she was also his queen. Queen of Asgard, Queen of the Nine Realms. She had her role to play, her job to do, and that was always going to be more important than being simply Odin’s wife or my and Thor’s mother. We learned that lesson when we were very young... And he had ordered the secret kept. To disobey that order would have been to disobey the ultimate authority in the kingdom. If she had revealed the truth to me, he would have been within his rights to have her exiled. Or executed,” Loki forced himself to add.

The girl gasped softly. “Do... do you think he would have...?”

“I don’t know. I would _hope_ not, but... I don’t know. Not anymore.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure of anything, anymore.”

“But you do think the queen would have told you the truth?”

“If she could have, yes.”

Lyka hesitated. “Are you sure that isn’t wishful thinking?”

He bristled slightly, but bit back the sharp words before they could escape his lips. Frigga had lied to Lyka as well as to him, Loki reminded himself. His girl had the right to ask that question. “She did so much, when Thor and I were children, to counteract the tales of the Frost Giants as monster. She reprimanded us and our friends for telling scary stories about them. She once punished Thor severely for making me play the Frost Giant while he and Fandral and Sif got to play the Asgardian warriors. She made sure our tutors gave us only the _facts_ about the various wars between Asgard and Jotunheim, not any of the ‘fun’ stories about glorious victory. And...” He frowned, grasping at the frayed edge of a memory. “She took me there, once.”

“To Jotunheim?”

“Mhmm. When I was very young, no older than five or six... Do you know, I’d almost entirely forgotten—” He broke off suddenly and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “She tried so hard, to keep me from hating them. And I never understood why. We all knew they were beasts and monsters. It always seemed so pointless...”

“But the Jotnar are _not_ beasts and monsters!” Lyka said, with a vehemence that sounded utterly alien to Loki’s ears. “Thialfi and I were always taught that they were a noble and honorable people, laid waste by poor leadership and too much warring among the clans.”

“And who taught you that?”

“Our tutors, of course, and... oh.”

“Tutors chosen for you by my own mother.” Loki turned that idea over in his head, examining it this way and that. “She knew you were not my children, knew that she could never reveal what she knew, and yet she did as much for you as she could for me.”

“It must have been so hard for her,” said Lyka softly. “To be forced to put obedience and duty over doing what is right. It hardly seems... Asgardian.”

“Your soldier father might have taken issue with that statement. Unfortunately, being a part of the royal family does mean that your life is never really your own. And for my mother, that meant never being able to tell me that I wasn’t meant to be hers.” Loki gnawed on his lower lip for a moment, and then added, “On the whole, I’m rather glad. I’m getting answers now, but... I’m grateful I didn’t have to hear that, at least, from her.”

He forced down the lump in his throat and hugged his foster child a little tighter. Lyka allowed the embrace for a few moments more and then reluctantly pulled away. “I really came here to talk to you about the trade negotiations. The king wants me to go with you to Councilor Freya. But he says you don’t want me to go.”

“Lyka... you don’t need to see me at work.”

“Do you think I’ll disapprove of your tactics?”

“Most people do.”

“Does that matter, if they’re effective?”

Loki looked at her sharply, his eyes raking over her face with a questioning air. “I know Thor agrees that we must do better to respect the sovereignty of our allies, but now is perhaps not the right time for civilized diplomacy. And the Lady of Vanaheim has made it plain that she does not hold me in high enough regard to accord any kind of respect. But you deserve a better version of me than the one who needs to deal with Freya.”

“Uncle. The time for shielding me from the unpleasant versions of yourself was nearly six hundred years ago. I love you as a parent, and I know your love for me is for the child I was, but I am not actually a child anymore. And if you need a second in council, I can be that second.”

He felt the uncomfortable stab again. “I don’t doubt that for a moment, girl. But I’d still be better served by someone who could use a sword,” he said, a little begrudgingly, because while he very much did not want Lyka to be present for the next session, he also truly didn’t want to disappoint her. “Freya’s granddaughter looks like she could skewer a troll and not break a sweat.”

To his surprise, Lyka grinned, and there was something familiar in the mischief that played about her lips. “You think I was under the guardianship of the queen’s personal bodyguard for a century and a half and never learned to use a sword? I fought on the Bifrost, too. And I don’t _look_ like any kind of warrior, I know, so you could potentially use that to your advantage.”

“...Your logic is... irrefutable,” admitted Loki thoughtfully. He studied her for another moment or two and then leapt lightly to his feet. With a flourish, he cloaked himself once more in the form of an Asgardian prince, and veiled his workroom from sight, pushing it back into the recesses of the over-stuffed storage room. “But I would test your skills for myself first.” He held out a hand, and raised an eyebrow. “That is, if you’re up for it.”

Lyka took his hand and stood up, with a smile that was half-giddy, half-terrified. “I’m about to be very thoroughly embarrassed, aren’t I.”

Loki grinned, and he could feel a lightness and a playfulness within himself that he hadn’t felt in years. “Possibly.”


	29. Stripped Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki prepares to do battle his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I'll get back to long meaty chapters. Someday... Also, a special shout-out to [snape_lust](http://archiveofourown.org/users/snape_lust/pseuds/snape_lust), whose deeply insightful comments are proving very helpful. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“Again!” Loki ordered, and neatly parried Lyka’s lunge with the sword. “Too slow. Faster. Again!” She did the maneuver again, with the same result. “You’re not fighting in mud, girl. I said do it faster!”

Snarling in frustration, Lyka lunged at him again, but still much too slowly to have kept her life in a real fight. Loki hit her sword wrist with the butt of his dagger, forced her to drop it, while his knee rammed into her stomach – barely a love-tap compared to the force he would have used in battle, but hard enough to knock the wind out of her and send her crashing to the gym mat. “You over-extended yourself,” he scolded. “Even if you’re armored, if you have no shield, always keep your guts protected. And you need to work on your speed, to say nothing of your timing—erk!”

She grabbed him by the ankle and jerked, slamming him to his back on the floor, and rather abruptly he found himself with a knife at his throat and a disheveled girl smirking at him.

Loki’s delighted laugh rang through the gym. “Nicely done. Not that it would’ve done you much good; you’d have been dead long before you could’ve gotten to that knife. But I’m glad you’re able to keep your wits in a fight. And that you don’t make the mistake of relying on a single technique.”

Lyka stood up with a grin. “Not going to scold me for dishonorable tactics?” she teased, wiping the sleeve of her practice tunic over her sweaty face.

“Heavens, no. Cheat. Always cheat.” He accepted her hand and let her pull him to his feet. “You’re terrible at this. But you at least know what you’re doing, more or less. You should train with Sif and Brun.”

Her cheery expression faded. “Well, at least I’m better than Thialfi... But that doesn’t do you any good today. You’ll still need a bodyguard.”

“...Right. Damn.” Loki dug his thumb absently into his palm, thinking rapidly. “Brun it is, then. Sif knows Freya, she’s worked in the same circles for the last two years. She might be too respectful.” He glanced at Lyka and then jerked his head at the gym’s showers. “Go get cleaned up. It’s time I stopped playing the good ambassador.”

* * *

Heimdall hailed Lady Sif as she crossed the wide, marked-off area that served as a practice ground. “We need to empty and cordon off the royal encampment of all civilians, on Loki’s orders. He wants no witnesses when next he goes to meet with the Vanir.”

“Why?” she asked, sheathing her sword.

The watcher lowered his voice. “He’s taking the Valkyrie with him, as bodyguard.”

“Oh, that must have hurt his pride to agree to...”

Heimdall nodded. “The girl, his foster daughter, has some skill with a blade, but not enough, so the Valkyrie will go with them.”

“Sensible. But why the cordon?”

“Because she’s going _as_ a Valkyrie, and we need to prevent a riot." Heimdall smiled a little, to see Sif’s eyes go wide at the prospect of seeing Brun in the legendary white-and-silver armor. “She’s been hiding it from the people, trying to make them think her presence at the Bifrost was an apparition, but she sees the value in making this statement and showing that Loki has powerful friends, especially after Lady Freya’s actions.”

“I wish we knew what her game was,” Sif muttered.

“Whatever it is, we need to be more vigilant. The girl, her granddaughter, has been moving among the Aesir in the evenings.”

“Doing what?”

“Listening,” said Heimdall grimly. “To anyone who happens to be talking.”

“And this rouses no notice from the people?”

“She looks more Aesir than Vanir, and five thousand is a lot of faces to remember. And Loki has never been good at staying off of people’s tongues.”

“In more ways than one.” Sif let out a growl of frustration. “Loki has made many enemies over the centuries, but at least they were openly come by. Freya’s enmity towards him feels... wrong, somehow. And his reactions... he is a different man. I do not yet know what to make of him.”

“He’s the same as always. Just stripped bare, like the rest of us. Trying to find a new place in the cosmos. But he’s used to remaking himself in response to adversity.” Heimdall looked sidelong at her. “Brynja is not the only person who has been quietly lurking and listening in the opposing camp. Loki knows how to adapt, and quickly. No one else here does.”

Sif could not deny that. “Still, to have inspired such loyalty in the last of the Valkyries so quickly... They are utterly devoted to one another, yet they can’t have been lovers for more than a month.”

“No long, no. But they found their footing with each other quickly. They had to, to survive.”

He said no more, did not even indicate by movement or flicker of his golden eyes that he knew what had passed in the king’s tent last night – she knew it was not his custom to spy on people in their beds. But for all that, Sif wondered sometimes. “And me and Thor? How quickly must we adapt?”

Heimdall shrugged broad shoulders philosophically. “It would be good for Asgard to have a queen again so quickly. A little more normalcy would do wonders for morale, and a continuation of the royal line would show the rest of the realms that we have not given up. But if it would not be to the good of the woman...” He trailed off and shrugged again. “We need to get that cordon up.”

* * *

“I hope you appreciate this, Lackey,” Valkyrie muttered, fastening her armor at the neck. “I swore I wasn’t putting this on again.” _And I never thought I’d be doing it for you..._

A voice spoke from a previously-empty corner of her tent. “I thought you were done hiding.”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Always have to make an entrance... You are such a drama queen, do you know that?”

“I have been referred to as a ‘full-tilt diva’ in the past, yes. I consider it a euphemism of quality.”

“You would,” she grumbled. She turned around and saw that Loki was wearing something she’d never seen before, a gold cuirass with a high collar and shoulder guards, trousers instead of the leggings he usually favored, and a full green cape. “And you’re dressing the part today, I see.”

“Presentation armor. Ghastly, isn’t it? Utterly unsuitable for fighting but very good for making a lasting impression. I’m done trying to handle Freya with subtlety. And you didn’t answer me.”

“I’m not _hiding_ , I was just...” She shoved her sword violently into its sheath, making Loki wince.

“Are you trying to disembowel yourself with that thing?”

“I was trying not to become any more of a legend than I already am.” Picking up her cape, she slung it around her shoulders, pulling her hair out of the way and then cursing when it snagged on the silver fittings. “Damn it, I should just cut the stuff off. Pretend Thor’s started a new fashion trend. I don’t know why the hell we all have long hair anyway, it’s such a liability in battle...” Valkyrie trailed off as Loki’s hands took possession of her long brown locks.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he murmured, his voice warm with promise. With quick, precise motions, he twisted and tucked her hair into a tight braid. “It looks so wonderful spread out on my pillow.”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes and refused to be entirely seduced. “Oh, you and your one-track mind...” Loki chuckled, not at all insulted. He conjured a silver cord to match her armor and looped around the end of the braid, and then stepped back to admire his handiwork. “You sure you even need me there? I thought you said your girl was good with a sword.”

“An hour’s sparring practice proved her to be passable, but I wouldn’t bet on her against Freya’s granddaughter.”

“And you’d bet on me, is that it?” She turned round to face him, and was greeted by a rather smug, rather proud, rather awed grin.

“My love,” he murmured, “I’d bet on you against all the Nine Realms and more.”

“You’ve slipped into calling me that very easily.”

His grin faded slightly. “I’ll stop, if you like.”

“...Don’t stop. As long as you mean it.”

“Brun... Valkyrie. I am very, very adept at lying. But I tell the truth all the time as well.”

“And you’d never lie to me, is that it?”

“Heavens, no,” replied Loki calmly. “I’ll lie to anyone, if it’s worth it. But only if it’s worth it. And so far, all my instincts point to truth being the only option with you.”

“It’s certainly the only option if you want to keep me on your good side,” she agreed, knocking his chest lightly with her knuckles.

“Of all your delights I’ve yet to taste, I’d much rather not taste your blade. One impalement is quite enough for one lifetime.” Loki closed his fingers around her fist. “The longer you stay in the shadows, the more of a legend you will become. Step out into the light. It suits you better than it does me.”

* * *

Before they left the safety of the royal encampment, Loki took his ward aside. “This is your last chance to back out,” he said quietly. “Just say the word, Lyka. Thor may be king but you’re my responsibility now, and if you don’t want to do this, I won’t have you forced.”

The stubborn set to her jaw reminded him so much of Harald. “Do you still think me that much of a child? We _agreed_ to this, Uncle. And I’m not ignorant of diplomacy, even if I have no experience. I’ve studied on my own for decades, and the king was impressed with my knowledge—”

“I’m not questioning your academic prowess. But Thor is first and foremost a soldier. War to him is a matter of warriors and cavalry and swords and blood. He forgets that there are other kinds of battlefields, other ways to wage war, that don’t involve honor and glory, and they are grueling and they are cruel and they are thankless.” Loki clasped her shoulders and locked eyes with her. “I have been the villain in many stories. And you are going to see why.”

Lyka raised her chin defiantly. “Then show me.”


	30. An Audacious Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor is reminded that there are many kinds of warfare, and Loki has words with the Lady of Vanaheim’s angry granddaughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intended to be a much longer chapter, but it was getting really long so I decided to split it and post the latter bit tomorrow. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

As he waited for Loki and the others to emerge from the tangle of tents at the center of the royal encampment, Thor was aware of a deep-seated uneasiness that he could not shake. “I don’t like this,” he muttered to Sif, who was standing guard at the gate that led to Volkang, as the usual guards had been dismissed for the day, to allow the diplomatic entourage their privacy. “There’s a heaviness in the air.”

“Are you sure that isn’t you?” Sif asked, mopping the sweat from her forehead. “It’s more humid than it should be, even for summer.”

“That is none of my doing. It will storm tonight, no matter what I do. No, this discomfort comes from without.” Thor caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and squinted. “Who is that?” he asked Sif. “Coming from the river. The haze is too thick, I can’t make them out.”

It was not, but it had only been a month since the injury that had taken his eye, and he was still adjusting to half the sight he was used to. It did not escape Sif’s notice that the king hadn’t attempted to join weapons training even once, since arriving. “It’s Thialfi Haraldson. I saw him emerge from the hospital tent.”

“He must want to see his sister off.” Thor raised his arm and waved at the young man. “How goes your training?”

“Well enough, sire.” Thialfi bowed slightly to both the king and to Sif.

“I thought I told you to call me Thor. You’re family.”

Thialfi smiled slightly. “I didn’t want to presume on your politeness. ...They haven’t gone yet already, have they?”

“Not yet. It would be like Loki, to keep Councilor Freya waiting...”

Sif shook her head at them both. “You two... like old mother hens.”

“I can’t help it,” Thialfi said, squirming his shoulders awkwardly. “She’s never done this before, and after what The Lady did to Loki... Lyka’s all I’ve got.”

Thor clapped the young man’s back heartily, nearly bowling him over. “Don’t worry,” he laughed, with more merriment than he felt. “I have never known Loki to try a trick twice where it failed the first time. He will not be caught off-guard so easily again. He will not let any harm befall your sister.”

“Oh, I know that. I’m more worried about what she’ll do, if anything happens to him.” Thialfi turned deep blue eyes on the king. “I don’t remember much about what happened when my father died, when our mother sent Loki away, but Lyka does. I never really had a father, but Lyka had two. And she’s not about to lose one now that she’s gotten him back. She’s not a _nice_ girl, my sister,” he added, with a grin that held more than a bit of bite to it.

Sif and Thor traded a glance. “Then it was clearly wise to send her with him,” said Sif, clasping his shoulder. “For all of Loki’s objections. I know what it is, to be a daughter who has no need of her father’s protection.”

“Does Eir need you back this day?” Thor asked. “Or Bruce?”

“No, I’m free until the evening.”

“Good. Come riding with me. I’ve been a neglectful guardian to my own ward, Alaric, and I’m promised on pain of death to take him for a ride today. And I think I should like to know you better,” Thor added.

“I... your majesty, you’re very kind, but—”

“My brother’s children are no less my family for being adopted, any more than Loki is less than my brother for being the same.”

Thialfi blinked very hard. “Of course, sire... Thor. Thank you.” He glanced at Lady Sif. “So, erm... what should I call you?”

“Sif.”

“...Right.”

Thor chuckled. Then, as the silence dragged on, he lapsed back into dark thoughts. He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet, pounded one fist against the opposite palm. He missed his hammer. “Sif. Do you remember that time in Ljosalfheim?”

“There were many times in Ljosalfheim. Most of them fraught with peril, either on the battlefield or in the tavern.”

“The war against Anodos the Usurper.”

Sif suddenly shivered, in spite of the heat. “Yes, I remember. We were not there for adventuring. And we almost did not all make it back.”

“We sent Loki out to scout, and he went on foot with a couple of warriors in light armor. And I felt then the same foreboding that I do now... only it’s worse. Then, I feared the news I would have to relay to my parents. Now...”

She nudged his arm briefly. “You are not alone, Thor. Not in kingship, not in kin. Diminished, yes. Not alone. And this is nothing like the war against Anodos.”

“I know.” Thor set his jaw and straightened as he saw Loki and the others coming over the rise of the hill. “That’s what bothers me the most.”

It was still a war, he knew. He was still sending his little brother into battle, and with a capable warrior at his back. But it was a battle Thor didn’t know how to fight, and Loki did. And it worried him that in this, he could not fight alongside the brother he’d only just gotten back.

But Loki was not alone and that was a consolation. He had Lyka, who loved him as a father, and he had the Valkyrie... and getting to see Sif and Thialfi’s reactions to the revelation that was Brun in her Valkyrie armor was _a gift_. “Close your mouths, you two,” he muttered with a grin, “before the birds decide to roost there.”

“I never dreamed I would get to see this,” Sif said, voice laced with awe. “I knew, I saw the tattoo, I saw her fight, but _this_...”

Thor nodded. “I know.” He watched Valkyrie and Loki stride down the worn dirt path with the same total confidence they had displayed on the Bifrost, and Lyka at Loki’s side, trying to keep up and to mimic that bold tread. “Believe me.”

Thialfi frowned. “Are they wearing... cloaks? In this weather?”

“...Perhaps Loki is planning to play to his native strengths.”

“Isn’t that a little obvious?”

“Nothing is obvious with Loki,” said Thor, with a mix of pride and deep unfailing worry.

His emotions must have been too plain on his face, because Loki groaned aloud as he approached. “You look like your favorite horse just died, brother,” he said cheerfully, with no sign of concern over what lay ahead. “And no ‘riding’ comments, please, not in Lyka’s hearing.”

Thialfi ducked his head and snorted, while Lyka replied with an eyeroll that did Loki credit. “She’s your kid now,” said Valkyrie dryly, as the Haraldsborns drew off a few paces, “she’s going to have to get used to it.”

“Come to wish me luck, little brother?” Lyka smiled. She reached out and pushed the unruly brown curls from Thialfi’s eyes. “My first official assignment?”

He threaded his fingers through hers. “Be careful,” he said simply. “And keep your wits about you. I can’t do healing spells yet, and I’d rather not try using Midgardian stitches on you.”

“You make it sound like I’m about to get into a fight. We’ll be sitting around a table and talking.”

“To start.”

Lyka sighed. “I’ll be careful,” she promised.

As they listened in silence to another pair of orphaned siblings, Thor gripped Loki’s shoulder tightly.

* * *

They made a gorgeous procession, the three of them, Loki thought, as they moved with determination through Volkang and towards the camp of The Lady of Vanaheim. Himself splendid and gilded in presentation armor, the Valkyrie covered in silver glory, and his bright shining child at his side. It was marvelous. There ought to be a fanfare of trumpets announcing their arrival.

It was also slightly ridiculous, of course. All such processions were, especially when there were only three of them, bedecked in all the finery they still possessed, marching to do battle over grain and fish and dried venison.

Loki reveled in the absurdity of it. He had tried to reason with the Vanir, quietly and rationally, and they had insulted him. Freya wanted to know what kind of man he was? Then he would _show_ her.

When Brynja, standing guard outside Freya’s tent, caught sight of them, her jaw nearly hit the grass. She ducked into the tent and was back in seconds, all but dragging the councilor with her.

Freya's reaction was far less dramatic, but no less laced with drama. She strode forward and, when Loki called a halt, dropped to one knee before him. “Prince Loki,” she said, her black hair loose and streaming around her face in humility, “I am bound by honor to apologize for the pain I gave you, when last we spoke. It was never my wish to cause such grievous wounds as I inflicted, or to cast doubt on my intentions towards Asgard. In the name of the friendship between our peoples, I beg your forgiveness.”

“Grandmother!” said Brynja, aghast, and would have said more, but for Freya’s sudden hiss.

Loki looked down at the proud woman prostrating herself before him. “Your apology is... acknowledged, Councilor,” he said, in a calm, measured tone that hit the ear like a slap. “I am not here for satisfaction. I wish only to conclude this matter of business between our peoples.”

“The Lady of Vanaheim has asked for your forgiveness, Odinson,” Brynja snarled, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“I’m aware of that,” said Loki, very quietly. “But you haven’t.”

“What have I to beg forgiveness for?”

“Your rudeness.” He flicked his fingers and – though the effort cost him dearly – Brynja’s sword jumped out of its sheath and into his hand. “Now let me be clear: unless you want my warrior friend here to teach you manners befitting a member of the royal house of Vanaheim, you’ll help your grandmother up and make us welcome.”

Angered and embarrassed, and plainly afraid, though doing her best not to show it, Brynja did as he said, escorting them all into the tent and even pouring mead for their guests, though she made a point of handing his cup to Lyka rather than giving it to him directly. Amused, Loki returned the petty gesture, returning Brynja’s sword to her by way of Lyka, who he thought flinched a little when their hands touched on the blade’s hilt.

Freya sat in her chair at the parchment-strewn table and gestured for Loki to take his place. “You show more audacity than I thought even you capable of, God of Mischief, in bringing a mock Valkyrie to act as your bodyguard.”

“Ah, Councilor,” Loki smiled, “I never settle for an imitation when I have the real thing to hand.”

Valkyrie raised her head proudly. “I am Brunnhilde Eskilsdottir,” she said, “and I am the last of the Valkyries. And this audacious prince is under my protection.”

“Then may the Norns help you,” said Freya, after a moment. She glanced at her own bodyguard, who looked frozen to the spot in utter shock. “I think you know of my granddaughter, Brynja.”

“We’ve had some tales of her,” Loki replied dryly, “yes. I hope you’ve been enjoying the hospitality of the Asgardian camp, Lady Brynja?” She shook herself out of her awestruck state and glared thornily at him. “And of course, Lyka, my ward and aide.”

Lyka bowed to Freya with cool respect, and Loki was struck once again by how well she had been trained in etiquette by the tutors his mother had sent her.

He also did not miss the moment where she met eyes with Brynja, or how the currents in the room abruptly changed, pulling on his senses like a tidal shift. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Valkyrie hide a knowing smirk.

 _Oh,_ Loki thought. _Well, that could be interesting..._ “Business first, ladies,” he drawled. “Flirting later.”

Lyka blinked and looked flustered, but the Vanir girl positively bristled at the insinuation. “I am here for my grandmother’s protection, Odinson, and the sooner you finish your business, the sooner I can get away from you and your foundling.” Brynja’s eyes were amber and hard. “Your father tore my family apart.”

Loki met her angry gaze squarely, and for a second he saw something there that he didn’t expect and couldn’t quite put a name to, but oddly enough, it made him feel more kindly towards the girl than he had a moment before. “I think it’s safe to say that Odin tore all our families apart, in one way or another. I’m not about to put my body on the line to prove either my innocence or culpability for his crimes, but,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the stern shining figure near the door, “I’m sure she would be happy to oblige you.”

“I know better than to try my luck against a dragonfang, but I would test my mettle against your pretty pitiful outland daggers any day.”

Loki’s smile was almost fond. Without seeming to move, his Sakaarian daggers appeared in his hands. “These blades have slain draugr, child. They have tasted the soldiers of Death herself.” He laid them down on the table, in full view of all assembled, and sat. “They have no need to bore themselves with you.”


	31. A Chink in the Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trade negotiations go about as well as can be expected. And then Freya makes a surprising request of Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, this chapter was difficult to write. For reasons which I hope will appear obvious. Please be warned: no one is nice in this chapter. Or polite. Or especially sensitive about sexual matters. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Brynja retreated to her post behind her grandmother’s chair in disgrace, her cheeks still flushed with her anger and her readiness to do battle. Lyka found a stool and placed to the side of and a pace or two behind Loki’s chair, and prepared to listen. Valkyrie stood by the door, feet planted and arms crossed. She said nothing, but Loki could imagine what she was thinking: _“Make this quick, Lackey. Politics bore me.”_

“After our last... discussion, I had my scribes draw up a possible proposal.” Freya produced a sheaf of parchment from a stack of similar documents and passed it over to Loki. “Given the need to weigh your requirements against ours, I think you will find it acceptable.”

Loki sipped his mead and skimmed through the trade proposal draft with an air of total absorption. In reality, he was reading the room from out of the corners of his eyes. It was an old trick, and one that he had put to good use during the more boring lessons during his days in the schoolroom. His mother had always chided him for letting his attention wander away from the task at hand. 

“You need to learn focus,” she would tell him, so often that he’d quickly lost count. “Otherwise your distraction will be your undoing.”

He had never quite learned how not to be distracted. But he had learned how to put others off-guard so that they did not notice when his attention was pointed elsewhere. 

Now, for instance, while he was meant to be going over the proposed trade agreement, he was studying Brynja. There was something unusual about her, something slightly... unreal. And she looked nothing like her grandmother. In fact, she barely looked Vanir. Clearly the royal blood of Vanaheim was running thin. He tried to recall what, if anything, Freyr had ever said about his sister’s family. He’d mentioned the girl once, hadn’t he? The daughter of one of his nieces? But there had been nothing about a husband... 

Well then, the girl was a bastard. What of it?

_“Your father tore my family apart.”_

Ah. Not a bastard. An orphan. That did put rather a different spin on things.

He made note of a few things in the document and sat back in the fine chair. “Well, it’s a start,” he smirked, pushing the parchment back across to Freya. “But barely worth the effort we took in putting on our finery to meet with you. This is a paltry amount of provisions compared to what we’re prepared to pay for. We’d barely survive ten days in space.”

“I’ve spoken with Skanda at length about your hunting and fishing expeditions. Your people are not without talent and efficiency, in those areas. She tells me your daily takings have been quite good.”

“Hunting has always been a favored pastime of the Aesir,” Loki agreed, with a wolfish little smile. “But we must be careful not to despoil the countryside any further. The last thing the king and I wish is to leave Vanaheim worse off than we found it.”

“It would be enough to get you to Ljosalfheim, by conventional means,” Freya replied. “And their ecosystem has not been nearly as ravaged by constant warfare as ours has.”

“The realm of the Light Elves is being held together by massive amounts of magic and positive thinking. They’re hardly in a position to trade with us, even if they felt like being magnanimous.”

“Oh, for the pleasure of knowing that Asgard is no more, I think their queen would give you the moon and stars, or at least a fair approximation of them. And did you not secure her throne for her, a mere three centuries ago?”

“A blink of an eye, and soon forgotten, it would seem.” Loki tented his fingers before his lips, gaze wandering. “And I hear tell of Asgardians taken prisoner and killed in Ljosalfheim, and not so long ago, either. And of Asgardians forced to endure taunts from the Light Elves in residence in Sessrumnir, while they should have been protected by Vanir hospitality. Indeed, Councilor, the vaunted hospitality of Vanaheim feels somewhat _lacking_ , of late.” 

He noted Breyja’s instinctive, bristling response to his slight against her people, which to her credit, she mastered quickly, if not completely. There was still a visible snarl on her lips. But at least she was silent.

“Lady Sif is a fine warrior, but she is unaccustomed to the subtle intricacies of diplomacy.” Freya made a dismissive gesture with one deceptively elegant hand. “She took offense where none was intended.” 

“Death threats are always offensive. I’ve made enough of them to know that.” He lifted his cup to his lips, and as he did so, the air in the tent became noticeably colder. Frost began to form on the cloth walls and on the carpets covering the grass, and Freya’s breath fogged the air, her eyes going wide as she realized what he was doing. Loki sipped casually at his mead, using the cup to hide the grimace of pain that this little demonstration was costing him. 

“And is this one of them, Odinson?”

“You called me by my right name. So no, Councilor. It is not. This time.” He beckoned to Lyka to move closer to the table, and set his cup down and folded his hands before him. “Now. Let’s get on with this.”

They rehashed the supplies Loki was bargaining for, amounting to over eighty tons of foodstuffs, and the minerals he had to trade with. He wanted to be sure things were clear in his own mind versus what Freya’s clerk had transcribed, and it was of use to Lyka. 

Then the haggling started, with Freya whittling down the minerals bit by bit, discarding them as useless for Vanaheim’s needs or not strong enough to compensate for the food her people would be giving up. Loki retorted by picking holes in all of her objections, to Freya’s obvious annoyance. 

“You must allow me some leeway,” she insisted. “I have orders from the king that I must obey.”

Oh, now that was new... “And were Njord’s orders to hold crusts of bread over our heads until we begged? Or simply to send us on our way, so that our deaths by slow starvation would not take place on your doorstep?”

“My king’s words are not for you, Silvertongue, to twist to your own ends.” 

“Ah, is that why he sent you instead of Freyr? The old fool was afraid I’d seduce the truth out of him, and come away with half the cattle in the realm in the bargain.” Loki’s grin spread so wide, it practically dripped off his cheeks. “Wise, very wise.” 

“Don’t crow too loudly. You were perfectly ready to try the same tactics on me, when first we met.”

“Ohhh, very ready. But then you showed me quite clearly where I stood.” The wicked grin snuffed out like a candle, leaving only a dark stare. “I don’t fuck anyone who consorts with Frost Giants.” 

“My prince, you _are_ a Frost Giant.” 

“I am Asgardian,” he snapped. “By rearing and by declaration.” 

“That does not make it so,” said Freya, with a chill smile, “any more than changing your form to that of a beautiful woman makes you a true woman.” 

The air shifted again, as both Lyka and Valkyrie stiffened in affront. But Loki lifted his hand slightly, to quell them. Well, if she would resort to such tired, low blows, then he would do the same. “I’ve never had any complaints about any of my forms. Least of all from Freyr. And if I do prefer to live as a woman at times and to take men as well as women as lovers, what of it? At least I can truthfully say I’ve never harbored a passion for my own brother.”

A slight tightening around Freya’s mouth was the only sign that his bolt had hit their mark. “If that’s true, your highness, which I have reason to doubt, then surely Thor is the _only_ person you have never tried to inveigle into bed. You are not known for being selective in your attempts at conquest.”

“True. Though getting Thor into bed might have been worth it, if only for the shockwaves it would have produced. I probably could have leveled Odin’s palace without even trying. But what’s the shame of a pair of brothers screwing each other, compared to a man siring children on his own sister? Oh, don’t think I don’t recall Freyr speaking with such _fondness_ of his nieces,” Loki purred, his voice like silk over ice, “and yet for some reason, neither Thor nor I ever met the lasses? What was the reason, hmm? Look too much like their sire? Or too much like Thor’s sire?”

The Lady of Vanaheim went still. 

“Oh yes,” Loki pressed, tonguing the tip of one canine as he grinned, “I’ve heard _all_ about that dalliance, in the early days of the Nine Realms. Whose idea was it? Yours? Or your father’s? Because while I’ve certainly whored myself out when it’s profitable, but I’ve never had to do it at my king’s command.”

“Whoever my daughters were sired by, you can be sure they are no kin of Thor’s, for while Odin and his monster child were laying waste to the realms, who was keeping Frigga company? Odin had brothers once, and they were _very_ comely men.”

“I know, I had a cousin off one of them. And if you’re about to throw my supposed passion for Fandral in my face, let’s just get that out of the way: of course I wanted to fuck him. _Everyone_ wanted to fuck him. But I never did and now he’s dead.” Loki leaned his elbows on the table, still smiling. The dig at Frigga had been too obvious, a blatant attempt to get under his skin. “You know, of all the times Freyr’s taken me to bed, he’s never asked me a single question or tried to work any information out of me. Well, not about Asgard’s defenses or the inner workings of Odin’s council chambers. His questions were more... well. But not once. So I have to ask: was it worth it, being Odin’s concubine on the orders of your father, trying to win back your people’s freedom through seduction and subterfuge? Or did it burn all the worse because Njord clearly never expected your beautiful golden brother to perform the same services?”

Her eyes blazed at him as she spoke through her teeth. “What would you know about it?”

“What I know about disappointing fathers, my lady, could fill all the libraries in the Nine Realms.”

“...The amount of honey you are demanding from us is absolutely untenable.”

Loki dipped his head slightly and conceded the field for the time-being, allowing Freya to return to the actual matter at hand. He’d had his fun, and he had found an obvious chink in her armor, one that he could needle at for hours. 

And did, pressing home repeatedly, trying to rattle her enough to make a concession or two, if only to get him to stop. A few times, it worked, and he was able to get her to agree to two-thirds of the supplies he needed, in exchange for the minerals. But it was a hard slog, and the Vanir mead was too strong for Loki to do more than sip at it from time to time. Finally, he paused the talks and sent Lyka out for water, and when she came back, Freya had regained her footing. 

Now the minerals were not sufficient compensation for the rations. Now she wanted the spells to work them into the ground. She wanted Asgardian spellcasters to remain and teach her people how to use such seidr, since – as she oh-so-calmly pointed out – it was Asgard who knew best how to exploit such magic. 

Then she insisted upon removing five tons of grain because there was a shortage in the southern peninsula and it could not be spared, and after all, what use could they put grain to in space? It would be much better used on Vanaheim, but she would happily replace it with bread... bread which, as Loki pointed out, would feed far fewer people and spoil far more quickly. 

And so it went on. And on. And _on_...

“What else have you got, Asgardian?”

“What else? You’ve rejected literally everything on the table.”

“You must have something else to counter with.”

“...I’m sorry, was I speaking too softly for your elderly ears? I’ve got _nothing left_.” Freya’s frosty smile annoyed him unspeakably. “Lyka,” he growled. “The councilor and I appear to have reached a stalemate for the time-being. As my apprentice, give me your assessment of the situation.”

She leveled cool blue eyes at Freya and Brynja in turn, with an expression of utterly polite disdain. “As you wish, Father.” It took all of Loki’s self-control not to flinch in surprise or look at her. He understood what she was doing, and approved, but oh... that hurt. “As the councilor has rejected everything we have to offer, but has not yet ended this discussion, then Asgard must still have something that Vanaheim wants and is willing to trade for.”

“Very good.” He turned back to Freya. “Well, Councilor? What do you say to my apprentice’s reading of this situation?”

“There is something I want from you,” Freya conceded with a dip of her head. “Something that I will give a very large amount for.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “How much?”

Freya glanced at the paperwork and then pushed a particular document back at him. “Three times the consignment of rations you’ve asked for.”

His eyes narrowed. “In return for _what_ , exactly?”

“You.”

“...I beg your pardon?”

“I want you to remain on Vanaheim when the ship departs. With your wards, if you choose, but I want you here.”

For a moment or two, Loki was actually speechless. He looked over at Lyka and over his shoulder at the Valkyrie by the door, but they both looked as stunned as he felt. “...Why?”

Freya’s smile was surprisingly sincere. “My brother still harbors feelings for you. Did you know that he offered for you, in years past?”

“I had no idea anyone had ever bothered to offer for me.”

“Oh yes. Freyr made many impassioned pleas for your hand in marriage, and our father tried to help him make his case, but the king and queen always refused.” She leaned forward and just barely touched the back of Loki’s hand. “He knows you, prince, in all your aspects. As Freyr’s husband – or as his wife – you could have had a family and a life of your own by now, free of Asgard and all her golden secrets. You could have those things still.”

“I have a family, thank you.” Loki smiled thinly and withdrew his hand. “And Asgard – my people – need me far more than Freyr does. Besides, I’m already married.” 

“To a woman four centuries vanished. Annulments are no great shame to a prince. Your child’s parents are dead, and your wife plainly has no further use for you. Why not give her up, and be free?” 

He heard Lyka’s indrawn breath of pain at the casual mention of her late father and mother, and felt the Valkyrie’s eyes on the back of his head. He knew that she wondered the same thing, if he would ever be free of Sigyn, no matter how often or how obviously he confessed his love for her.

And he _did_ love her, as he had loved Harald and Gudrun: quickly, desperately, devotedly, succumbing all at once. He was lost in loving them before he could realize or guard against it, and once he was there, he hadn’t bothered to spend his energy in fighting it. He adored them all. But Sigyn...

Harald and Gudrun had been the first. His first true lovers, his first real loves. And with them, he’d had the rare privilege of being be more or less himself. But only ever ‘more or less’. He could never be _all_ of himself. He could be the scholar, but not the sorcerer. The mischief-maker, but not the fomenter of discord. He could be Loki with his commoner lovers, but never _Prince_ Loki. He could be a man or a woman, and feel safe with them, but there had always been a part of himself he had felt compelled by duty and royal prerogative to hold back. 

With Sigyn? Loki could be _everything_. 

And he was starting to find that with the Valkyrie, by slow, glacial degrees. It had only been a month. But Sigyn had known him since childhood, taught him and guided him as a teacher before shifting into the role of friend and confidante, and then at long last, to wife and lover. Four and a half centuries of friendship and history. 

It was more than love. She was part of him. She had left a piece of her with him when she disappeared, and taken a piece of him in its place.

Sigyn had a piece of his heart, and the Valkyrie still had him tied, and Lyka had called him ‘Father’... and Loki found he no longer had any desire to be entirely free.

“I said no. I like your brother, but not enough to marry him, for love or duty.” 

“Then Asgard has nothing else that Vanaheim desires.”

Scowling, Loki signaled Lyka and Brun that they should go. As they were about to leave, Freya rose and spoke again. “Remain in Vanaheim, and I will tell you what happened to your wife, after she left you. Why she left you. You can be free of Asgard, my prince.”

Loki stood rigid for a few seconds, his back to her, but in full view of Lyka and Valkyrie. His jaw clenched and his eyes clamped shut. Tears leaked down his cheeks. “I am Loki _of Asgard_ ,” he said darkly. “There is nothing to be free of.” He pushed aside the tent door and stalked out.


	32. Gamesmanship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki takes a breather, while he and his foster-daughter talk tactics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow, being Sunday, is my scheduled day off, and then Monday is a holiday for me, so Happy New Year and I'll see you all on Tuesday! 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments, as always, are love. ♥
> 
> If you've enjoyed this story thus far, or anything else I've written this year, and you feeling generous (and are able to be so!), please consider visiting [my Tumblr and showing your appreciation](http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com/post/169115993787/the-convalescent-way-chapter-thirty-two). Thank you so much for sticking around - every single one of you makes all this work worthwhile.

Instead of letting him go back to the encampment, Lyka and the Valkyrie conferred silently with a look and steered their charge instead towards the river to work off some of his anger, making sure to guide him far enough away from the bend where the hospital tent was situated, in case he got too carried away. “And if he does,” said Valkyrie, with a grin, “I can handle him.”

Though she was better about showing it, Lyka was as in awe of her as everyone else, and believed her.

“You know,” Lyka said, after a few moments of watching Loki send enormous rocks flying into the water, “Freya never said, point-blank, that she wanted Loki’s hand for her brother. Only that her brother still desires him, and that Loki could have him if _he_ wanted. Not that it is what Vanaheim wants.”

“I noticed.” Valkyrie dug the tip of her sword thoughtfully into the grass. “You don’t think Freya really wants him to stay?” 

“No, she does. That much is honest. But I do not think she wants it for her brother’s sake.” 

“For her own?” 

“For... something.” Lyka worried at her lower lip for a time, lost in thought, while Loki shot off one last bolt, shattering a pine tree on the hill beyond, and dropped to his knees in the sand with an animal cry of rage. “Will you go to him, or shall I?”

“You go. I need to get out of this stuff. And,” Valkyrie added, “he’ll probably want my company later.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being there for him.”

“He’s got you.”

“...Not like that.”

Valkyrie grinned rather wickedly. “I should hope not.” 

“Here.” Lyka handed over her notes from the long meeting. “Will you give these to the king? They’re a little illegible but it would be better if he had some idea of what happened, before Loki arrives for his debriefing.”

Valkyrie took the pages and looked Lyka up and down. “Come to the practice field tomorrow. We’ll start putting you through your paces.”

Lyka nodded and watched her go, before walking across the grass to where it gave way to sand, and sitting down next to Loki. He had pulled his legs to his chest, and was resting his head on his knees. 

He refused to look at her. “I’m not fit company right now. Go.”

“I will not.”

His lip curled in irritation, but made no further attempt to get her to leave. “I’ve done everything I can, and we still have nothing. We can take the draft agreement we started the day with, and be out of food again in less than two weeks, or we can leave with nothing, and she doesn’t care either way. She’s entirely willing to let us go back into space and starve in recompense for Odin’s crimes, and I can only hope the Allfather is watching from Valhalla and feeling more guilt for that than he did for leaving us to face Hela with little more than schoolchildren and sparklers.”

“What would you do,” asked Lyka, “in her place? If we were the ones holding the advantage, and the Vanir had someone you wanted? If Freya had asked for any other person on the ship, what would you have said?”

Loki felt a cold chill zip up his spine, as he often did when confronted with something that felt too ominously like truth. 

“Oh no, girl. Please, continue” he said, lifting his head to glare at her, and snapping off his words in short sharp bits, like broken glass. “Convince me of my hypocrisy, since you seem so determined to brand me as one.” It was cruel, he _knew_ he was being cruel, and this time without purpose or deserving target. But what did it matter anyway? They weren’t going to survive the trip to Earth, at this rate, so better to start devouring one another alive now, while there were still enough left to bury the dead. “What would _you_ have said, if you were the one negotiating to feed our people?”

“If she had asked me to stay, I would stay. I’d be no great loss to anyone, except my brother.” And I hope, her eyes said, to you. “If she had still demanded you...”

“Say it,” Loki ordered. “ _Say it._ ”

“I would have agreed. In purely practical terms... well, you’re not going to be of much use in helping to replenish Asgardian genetic stock.”

He stared at her for a moment, aghast, and then blinked and dropped his head back between his knees. “Damn. That... Are we all still sure you’re not my daughter?”

“I am my mother’s daughter,” Lyka said wryly. “And she... well. Mother had her moments.”

“Yes, she did. Gudrun could be ruthless, when she was pressed. It was part of why I loved her.” He pulled off his boots, stretched his legs out and sat back, exhaling slowly. “In there... you called me ‘Father’.”

Lyka nodded. “I thought it would show the Vanir that I am no mere fosterling or apprentice to be ignored, that as far as they go, I am a Lokisdottir, and a member of the royal house of Asgard. Effectively,” she added hastily. “I’m sorry if I upset you...”

Loki looked at her for a moment with something very like awe. “Effectively... You bear the mantle well,” he told her, with a rueful little smile. “More naturally than me. So, ‘Lyka Lokisdottir’, as my apprentice, what do you think of Freya’s negotiating skills?”

“She seems... erratic.”

“Oh good, then it wasn’t just me.”

“And her gamesmanship is terrible. Why is she so determined to bait you? What does she want from you?”

“I wish I could figure that out.” He scrubbed a frustrated hand through his hair, fisting his fingers into the black strands. “It’s certainly not a marriage. It _might_ be seidr users, but I’m not even entirely sure of that. Why would they need Asgardian magic? This is an entirely different realm.” 

“Does that matter? Apart from now, when you are wounded, you have always been said to be utterly at ease in whatever realm you happened to be in.”

“I’ve spent most of my adult life traveling to other realms, other worlds, and skulking about in the spaces between them. I learned how to manipulate the energies of other realms because it was necessary to my survival. But it’s not something that others are likely to know, or will be able to learn quickly.”

“Perhaps that is why she asked for you?”

“Oh, perhaps, but... Whatever Freya really wants, she wasn’t stupid enough to put it in writing...”

“Brynja might know.”

“Oh, she might. And then again, she might not. She reminds me of Sif – too much anger to keep her mouth shut for long. Freya should never have agreed to bring her along as guard. But she’s not likely to tell us anything else, not after what she did reveal. She hates us. Not without reason, but that doesn’t do me much good.”

Lyka drew in a deep breath. “I might be able to get her to talk. She did seem to admire me, if you noticed.”

Loki rotated his head slowly. “I did notice,” he admitted, regarding her with shrewd interest. “And was I imagining it, or did you actually jump when she handed you that drink and took her sword back?”

“...I may have. A little.” A tinge of pink spread over her cheekbones. “I didn’t expect her hands to be so warm...”

“Spare me the details and do what you have to. Just be careful, especially when you’re alone with her. We’ve not yet seen her fight. And I think both of our brothers will have my head if anything happens to you because of this.”

“You’re not going to try and dissuade me?”

“I told you, I’ve been the villain of many stories. If you’re going to follow in my footsteps, and I would say you’re well on your way, you’re going to need some stories of your own.” Then he laughed, a low and husky thing that was directed mostly at himself. “And this is why I should never actually father children. Because it’s probably bad that ‘not on your life, girl’ was only my second impulse.”

“What was the first?”

“‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ I should have had a spy among the Vanir a week ago.” He snorted softly. “Clearly, this whole mysterious affair has put me off of my game.”

“I know, it’s... I don’t _understand_ ,” Lyka persisted. “Uncle, it’s... none of this makes sense! The hospitality of the Vanir is supposedly legendary, and yet the peasantry here are treating us with more courtesy than the nobility. Freya is openly hostile to us, as though she’s unable to help herself, but at the same time...” 

“Yes. There’s a desperation there.”

“She plainly wants something from you, and _knows_ something about you beyond what she’s already told, but... what?”

“I don’t know,” Loki growled. “And I want answers. Unfortunately, the only other people who could tell me the unvarnished truth are all dead.”

“She doesn’t really want you to stay and wed her brother, that much is plain.”

“Oh no. She just threw Freyr out as a bone.”

Lyka blinked once or twice. “Uncle. That was terrible.”

“Terrible but true, I’m afraid. My reputation in that regard is probably my second most well-known trait in all the realms. The first, of course, being my disastrous attempt at conquering Midgard, which is also likely not working in my favor. The Lady of Vanaheim _would_ be wary of me, if she remembers the war with Asgard and all that came after it.” _Especially if I am as much like Odin as some people seem to think..._

“Wariness, I would understand. Even the hostility... but the desperation.” She shook her head slowly. “No, that is the piece that is out of joint.” She frowned, her brow furrowing in a way that brought back a plethora of memories to Loki, and absently traced patterns in the clear river sand. “What can you have, that she would want so badly that she would all but force us to leave before asking for it? Because that is what this amounts to. Either you stay, or we all go away hungry. And I cannot tell what the true goal is.”

He shrugged and waved his fingers at the sand, pulling it this way and pushing it that, building castles and moats without actually touching the stuff. He still ached from his exertions at the negotiating table, but with his feet in the sand and the wind in his hair, he felt better for stretching his magic a little more. “I was king in Asgard for four years... perhaps she thinks I have information that she wants.”

“You said she as good as admitted having spies in Asgard, before the end. Could she want other knowledge? Perhaps... darker knowledge?”

Loki concentrated on filling his castle moats and adding serpents fashioned from river weed before he answered. “There are certain... aspects to my exile... that are not commonly known. Thor knows, and perhaps now Sif as well, but I cannot think that the Allfather would have spoken of such things where spies would have heard. And I would rather die than reveal those things... but somehow...” He licked his lips and concentrated on the snapping, hissing little weed-serpents in his sand castle moat, and shut away his memories of Sanctuary, of The Other, of his brain frying inside his skull and his body being ground down into its component molecules. “I don’t think that’s what Freya’s after.”

“...The first time she met you, what did she say, that upset you so badly?”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw twitched. “That she knew my birth mother.”


	33. Outliers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long frustrating council meeting leads Bruce to a startling realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too damned long. I'm logging off and going to see "The Shape of Water" now. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki would have preferred to go back to his tent, change out of his presentation armor, and go in search of a bath and a meal. In fact, he was on the verge of simply stripping off then and there and flinging himself into the river... before he remembered that Thor would want a report of what had transpired while it was still fresh in his mind, and that he couldn’t simply ignore what Thor wanted anymore, because now Thor was king, and for _some_ reason Loki had decided to honor that fact.

Six weeks ago he had been, variously, a very effective pretender to the throne, a very obliging concubine to a terrifying lunatic of untold age and power, and a very accidental aid to the destruction and yet also somehow salvation of Asgard. And since then, he’d been prince, diplomat, mediator, circus magician, father and lover.

He glanced nervously at Lyka, thought uncomfortably of the Valkyrie, and gnawed at his lower lip.

_I should’ve stuck to magic. I am in over my head._

When the hell had he morphed into a responsible royal adult, with... responsibilities? And obligations? And a compulsion to acknowledge emotions? And why was he still _doing_ all of that, when by all that was right and decent in the universe, he should have been gallivanting off on his own somewhere, far _far_ away from people who had always overlooked him at best and feared him at worst? He should have been _done_ with all of this. He should have been—

_Dead. Or worse._

Unbidden, his mother’s voice drifted through the back of his consciousness. _“Don’t forget, Loki, you quite literally asked for this.”_

“Yes, Mama,” he muttered, reaching for his boots. He hated how often he could hear her, and when he turned around, he was always alone...

Lyka frowned. “What was that?”

“Nothing at all. Come on, let’s go make our report to the king.”

“If it’s all right, Uncle, I’ll stay here for a little while.”

“...Not wasting any time, I see. Well, try to be home before dark. The last thing I need is Thialfi turning up at my tent in the middle of the night wondering where you are.” He tightened the buckles on his calves and stood up, grimacing at the feeling of sand in his boots. “And Lyka? Be careful.”

“I will, Uncle, I promise.”

The river sand grated at his feet as he walked up the hill to the royal encampment, and he wondered awkwardly if he could be satisfied with ‘Uncle’ now.

* * *

An hour later, Loki had completed his debriefing, excising most of the vulgarities (though not all; he was rather proud of some of those jabs) for conciseness and summarizing the salient points of the meeting with Freya to Thor and the makeshift royal council, including Bruce, who Thor had roped into attending this time. (By rights, Eir should have been the representative of their sparse team of healers, but as she put it, she had never involved herself in politics in Odin’s time and she wasn’t about to start arguing with his sons – or rather, ‘the boys’ – at this late date.)

At the end of it, Loki was parched and Thor looked deeply concerned. “So what do we do?”

“‘Do?’” Loki repeated, in the middle of pouring himself ale. “Your Majesty, what you do is to get your right royal arse over to Volkang as soon as this meeting’s over and sign that draft agreement before Freya changes her mind again.”

“But you said it was worthless.”

“It’s only _mostly_ worthless. It’ll give us some provisions in addition to the ones we’ve been able to acquire ourselves, and I worked too damned hard to get those just to let her go back on her word now. But I—”

A hurried blonde figure rushed into the royal pavilion. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me,” Lyka said, tumbling over her words as she took her seat a pace behind her foster father. “I didn’t mean to be so late, but I – I needed to talk to someone.”

Thor smiled and brushed it off. Loki turned in his chair and gave her a long, searching look as she sat down. Her cheeks pinked a little, but otherwise, she returned his gaze more or less calmly.

“As I was saying. I wish I could put a finger more firmly on what Freya’s trying to accomplish, which seems to waver between trying to forge a new alliance and actively antagonizing us to the point of open warfare.”

“She might be trying both, to see which one will work to her advantage. You said that Lady Freya is working under orders from Njord, but that seems desperate to achieve her goal, whatever that goal may be. Could she be working to _subvert_ his orders, for some reason? Perhaps she or Freyr is trying to move into the vacuum of power created by Asgard’s destruction.” Thor felt rather proud of himself for that suggestion, which felt subtle and subversion and plausible enough even for Loki.

But all around the table, heads were shaking. “You haven’t been paying enough attention to Vanaheim, if that is your best guess,” said Heimdall.

“He’s right, Thor,” Sif said, an apologetic tilt to her lips. Loki and Brun were nodding as well. “Anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock for the last millennium—”

“Or on Earth for the last few years,” Loki added, “which is really a distinction without a difference—ow!” He rubbed the back of his head and glared at Brun.

“Thank you,” said Sif mildly. “As I was saying... it’s _possible_ that a member of the Vanir royal family might be trying to take advantage of the power gap, it’s highly unlikely to be Freyr.”

“Embarrassing as it is to me personally, I have to agree with Sif.” Loki shrugged. “Freyr’s always been an indolent good-natured bear of a warrior. And while Njord may have once rivaled Odin in terms of using people to his own ends, he’s an old man now and will probably be joining Odin on the other side very soon.”

“But Freyr has always been a friend to us,” Thor said. “I know, I _know_ he could well have been putting on an act, but... that’s not Freyr, any more than it is me.”

“You do have your moments, brother.”

Thor acknowledged the back-handed compliment with a tiny grin. “Moments, yes, but for centuries? If and when he becomes king, he would still be a friend to me, if not to Asgard as a kingdom. And perhaps Freya does not want that.”

Lyka touched her foster father’s arm and then whispered something into his ear. Loki bent his head, and the two conferred together for several moments. But when he sat up again, it was to shake his head. “I said some utterly vile things to Freya today, regarding her relationship with her brother, things that even I know to be untrue. But that does not detract from their closeness. She would not stand against him openly. And thought she might work against his wishes in secret, it would have to be for a _very_ good reason.”

“Ljosalfheim might be a more likely candidate,” Sif remarked. “Asgard’s relationship with the Light Elves has always been... tempestuous. And after what Bor did to their cousins the Dark Elves, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Thor looked pained. “We’ve always had good relations with the Alfar.”

“You’ve had some _very_ good relations with them,” she replied, her voice utterly deadpan. “In all sincerity, you could easily have sixteen children of varying ages running around over there.”

All eyes were suddenly on the king, who turned very red and muttered, “I’ve always been careful...”

“The magic of the Light Elves always baffled Odin,” Brun said thoughtfully. “Did that change, after I left Asgard?”

“There was some headway made, in deciphering their connection to seidr. But not much.” With a frown, Loki rose from his chair and, needing to do something with his nervous energy and unable to convert it into magic, began to pace, thinking aloud as he walked back and forth next to the table. “And as Thor and Sif can attest, my ability to use magic during out excursions in Ljosalfheim was... not me at my best.”

“That is putting it mildly,” Thor agreed, as Sif grimaced at the memories.

“If – and this is an impressively large ‘if’ – the Vanir are trying to ally with the Light Elves, then Freya’s tactics are even more confusing. It would be more practical to simply give us what we want and get us out of Vanaheim as fast as possible, because it’s very likely that once we’re gone, we’re not going to be able to come back.” Loki paused to look around at the stricken faces. “Surely you must have realized that.”

From their expressions, at least Thor and Sif had not. Loki resumed his pacing, pretending he had not noticed his brother’s hand seeking out Sif’s. “She seems to be willing to trade with us, and to want the minerals we have to offer, but she seems _un_ willing to come to any sort of definitive deal about what the terms of that trade should be. She plainly wants us gone, but equally refuses to end the negotiations, one way or the other, which would allow us to leave more quickly. She claims to be acting under orders from Njord, but her actions suggest that those orders are not consistent with what she herself wants. It is the most annoying puzzle.”

“Perhaps she does not know what she wants?” Heimdall suggested mildly. “Or what the Vanir king wants. The machinations of Sessrumnir have always been impenetrable.”

“I can attest to that,” said Sif. “Intrigues within intrigues. You would not suspect it of them, from the simple people here, but in the city, the Vanir nobles and court politicians are merciless.”

“I wouldn’t have sent you if I hadn’t thought you were up to the job,” Loki said, throwing her an abstracted grin.

“I ought to have known something was wrong that day. The Allfather would not have sent me at all.” But Sif’s comment was not accusatory. If anything, she grew amused. “In a way, I made a most effective spy. I had no idea what I was doing, and people were not as guarded around me as they ought to have been.”

“You sent back good information,” he agreed.

“Yes, until you decided to abandon me here.”

Loki frowned at that, but he didn’t rise to the jab. Instead, he ceased his pacing and pressed his hands flat on the table, leaning in. “What happened after that?” he asked, eyes clear and piercing. “Something happened that compelled you to leave the city, in spite of a royal directive to remain. So what was it?”

“It was nothing... specific.” Under his gaze, Sif hesitated. “Not that I can recall. There were the threatening comments from the Ljosalfar delegation. Other things, small things. The ruling council always promised me whatever protection or support I needed, but it was always implied that there would be something exacted from me, should I need to call on them. And when I finally became too uneasy, I left, and came back here. There was no word from Asgard as to what I should do...”

“So your departure from Sessrumnir coincided with Asgard’s destruction.”

“Yes, roughly.”

“Loki.” Thor’s voice broke Loki’s concentration, and he swayed a bit as he sat back down. “What are you suggesting?”

“I... don’t know. But I... I keep having the strangest feeling that... I thought something seemed familiar. I thought I had something there...” His vision swam, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. He felt Lyka rise and leave him, and then she was pressing a cool pewter cup into his hands. The water tasted silvery and sweet as it went down his throat. “I don’t know, Thor. None of this makes any kind of sense.”

To his surprise, it was Banner who spoke up then. “If it’s not making sense, but it’s happening, then it means it’s happening for a reason, but it’s a reason we can’t figure out yet, because we don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle. Or we _do_ , and we just can’t see them. It’s like when we were fighting in New York.”

Loki sighed and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “Is this really the most appropriate example you can think of, Bruce?”

“Yes, because all this shit is – again – focused on you. That was what we couldn’t figure out: why you? I mean, why did you let yourself be captured in Stuttgart? Why didn’t you run away while Thor and Steve and Tony were fighting? Why’d you just sit on the Helicarrier? You could’ve escaped any time you felt like it. But you stayed because you had a game plan. You had a goal. And we didn’t see it until it was almost too late.”

Loki glanced at his brother briefly, and then looked away.

“It’s obvious that Freya’s aiming to get _something_ ,” said Valkyrie. “I mean, she flat-out said, she wants Loki to stay.”

“But why? She hates me.”

“But why _you_ , specifically? Why you and not Thor? What’s different about _you_?”

“I think we all know the answer to that. But as The Lady of Vanaheim seems to have a soft spot for Frost Giants...”

“She doesn’t hate you, though.” Lyka shook her head. “Freya keeps trying to tell Loki things that she believes will make him be more inclined to like her. About your birth mother, and trying to work on your confused feelings towards the Allfather. It’s like...”

“Like a parent,” Sif said, with too much knowledge behind her words, “trying to turn a child against the other parent. Loki, what did Freya say about your birth mother? About Jotunheim?”

“Only that she had known the woman, and that their two realms had been friendly before Odin destroyed the portals connecting them. But if you're about to suggest that _Freya_ is my birth mother, Sif, it’s not possible. I’ve touched her – don’t look at me like that, Thor! – and she is no more a Jotunn than any of the rest of you.”

“No, Loki – the portals. You’ve long had an ability to travel between the realms, without need of a structured pathway. But you also have knowledge of how to _create_ portals, do you not?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“Freya is many thousands of years old,” Thor protested. “This is knowledge she should have.”

“Knowing how and ability are two different things,” Loki reminded him. “Remember what I keep telling you about the price of casting seidr? She may not be strong enough to open a permanent portal. All the same...” He tapped his fingers irritably on the table. “No, it’s gone. The thought’s gone. I had an inkling of... something. But it’s gone now. Again.” He lapsed into an irritated silence.

Bruce glanced around the table and, when no one else seemed willing to interrupt Loki’s sulking, folded his hands and said, mildly, “Hope you don’t mind a technical question, but what’s the difference in lifespans between Asgardians and Vanir?”

He got a lot of confused looks in response. “It’s about the same,” said Heimdall. “Give or take a few centuries.”

“‘A few centuries.’ Okay, sure.” Bruce shook his head with a disbelieving little laugh. “But what’s a few centuries to people who live half a million years?”

Once again, everyone at the table gawked at him. “Half a mil... No, we don’t!” Valkyrie said. “Who the hell told you that?”

Bruce pointed at Thor, who grinned awkwardly and tried not to meet anyone’s eyes. “Uh... sorry?”

Loki dropped his face into his hands. “You do realize, Thor, that the royal family are outliers and shouldn’t be included in general statistics, yes?” He looked up at Bruce with a long-suffering ‘My brother the idiot’ expression. “The average Asgardian has a lifespan of about five thousand years, but there weren’t actually all that many Asgardians even before Ragnarok, so that average is affected by the warriors who die in combat. Even a few tends to tilt the numbers. It’s entirely possible for a non-combatant to live as long as ten thousand years. Any longer requires a lot of magic and a lot of dedication to spitting in the faces of the Fates, _unless_ you happen to an Asgardian king, because they actually _can_ live for half a million years, and possibly longer. Thor’s grandfather ruled several eons ago.”

“Eons as in... an indefinitely long period of time? Or eons as in ‘billions of years’?”

“Eons as in, when Bor took the throne, your planet didn’t exist yet.”

“...Oh,” said Bruce softly. “I... wow.”

“I’ll give your tiny mortal mind a minute to process that.”

“So why just the kings? Why do only they live that long?”

Loki shrugged. “As I said, magic and spite. And innate regenerative healing cycles linked to the royal bloodline. It’s all quite mysterious and annoying, but judging from what Thor and I saw of our father’s periods of ‘Odinsleep’, it seems to occur under only very specific circumstances.”

“Under what sort of circumstances?”

“Usually when it’s most inconvenient to everyone else.” Loki paused to glare at the assembled Asgardians, as though daring them to contradict him on that point. Then he snorted. “As though I wouldn’t sell my soul for that exact ability right now. If I truly was of Odin’s blood, then I could simply go to sleep for a few days and wake up with this giant hole in my chest healed and gone, instead of... what happens.”

He didn’t elaborate. They all knew about it, by this point. And at least among these people, Loki could be reasonably sure that, as Valkyrie had insisted, no one cared.

“I’ve never seen you revert to your natural state,” Bruce said, curiosity getting the better of him. “What’s it like?”

_Monstrous,_ Loki wanted to say, but he knew that Thor would scold him again. “I keep it hidden for a reason.”

“Yeah, but... what reason? Is it ‘cause you think everyone else’ll freak out? I mean, we all know the truth by now, don’t they?”

“Know, yes. But seeing...”

“Yeah, seeing’s scary,” Bruce agreed. They lapsed into silence again. The serious matters of the negotiations and the Lady of Vanaheim’s motives appeared to have been momentarily tabled.

This time, though, it was Loki who broke it. “It’s not something I could ever call forward easily. My father... I don’t know exactly what Odin did, when he found me. Whatever claim to Asgard I possess came directly, literally, from his hands. I didn’t know. That’s how thorough of a glamour he put on me. And it stayed, through childhood and puberty and on into manhood. The only time it ever wavered before was when I was once touched by a Jotunn... and when I once touched my inheritance.” _And when I apparently nearly died giving Heimdall an energy boost..._

“Eh?”

“The Casket of Ancient Winters. A relic of Jotunheim, an artifact of great power, and the hereditary heirloom of the kings of Jotunheim. Odin took it when he took me.”

“And he never gave it back?”

“One does not return war trophies, Bruce. And nobody wanted _me_ back. But... perhaps...” He glanced sideways at the small, rumpled scientist. “Do you really want to see?”

“I mean, I don’t want you to hurt yourself on my account. I know you’re running close to empty right now. But it’d kinda even the score a little, y’know?”

Loki looked at him in astonishment... and then laughed under his breath. “I’ve seen your beast, so it’s only fair you should see mine?” He looked around at the rest of the council. “If anyone minds me doing this, the door’s right there.”

To his – Relief? Disappointment? – no one moved. “Right,” he said, standing slowly and stepping back from the table. “For those who haven’t seen this yet... please don’t try to attack me.”

“No one’s going to attack you, Loki,” Thor chided.

“There’s only one person in this room who hasn’t tried to kill me at least once, and that was when I didn’t look like a monster from a children’s bedtime story. Forgive me for being a little _anxious_.”

Which was, honestly, putting his feelings very mildly.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He unclenched his fists... let his heart rate slow... tried to pretend he was going to sleep... He had the oddest sensation of a hand brushing over his forehead, and then he felt the shift hiss over him like wind over snow.

And then there were eyes on him. So many eyes... the weight of their staring was worse than having Mjolnir on his chest. He _heard_ Sif’s breath stop and thought of her sword by the door, and briefly considered willing his daggers into his hands. Someone got up from the table and came to stand in front of him, and still Loki could not convince himself to open his eyes...

Then he felt a hand on his cheek, and his eyes shot open, and he was looking down at his child, who was looking up at him in... he had no idea what the emotion on Lyka’s face was.

A few paces behind her, Bruce stood a respectful distance away, gazing up at the tall, ethereal figure before him. “Gosh, that’s beautiful.”

Loki blinked. Beautiful? He looked from Bruce to Lyka and back in confusion. “...That coming from a man who turns into a radioactive ape if he stubs his toe.”

Bruce gave him a slow grin. “That really the best you can do?”

“I... Well, it is short notice...” Loki glanced over at the table and, flinching under all the eyes, immediately reverted back. “Oh...” He swayed on his feet. “Chair. Need to... chair.” And he endured the indignity of allowing Bruce and Lyka to help him to his seat. “Happy now, Banner?”

Bruce ignored him and sat down in Lyka’s chair. “What are Frost Giants usually like?”

“Giant, for one thing.”

“So, like... taller than six-foot-two.”

Loki was too tired to be anything but amused. “Yes, rather taller than that. Giant, looming figures that practically evolved to be one with the ice. Their touch is death to flesh and their wrath slow and cold, smoldering over centuries.”

“Yeah, that’s really not you. You’re too easy to piss off. And you’ve got the metabolism of a hummingbird.” Bruce reached out and wrapped his fingers around Loki's wrist for a moment. “You feel almost feverish.” Loki dodged Bruce’s hand before he could check his forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Your concern is... touching. Now stop it.”

“I just want us all to get to wherever we’re going in one piece. Including you.”

“Why? So that the rest of Earth’s mightiest freaks can haul me up before some global tribunal? Because that’s what will happen, Bruce. If I go to Earth, your friends will find a way to kill me.”

“Well... you kinda deserve it?”

“I’m not denying that. I’m saying, I don’t want to die. I’ve been dead before. It bores me.” Bruce wasn’t listening anymore; instead, he had turned Loki’s hand over and was examining it minutely, flexing the long fingers and pressing here and there in the lightly callused palm. “What are you doing?”

“Funny thing about the Other Guy is that there are certain things that bleed through from him to me. Little things. I can pick up on energy patterns real good, like... picking a tune out of white noise.”

“Yes, I know.”

Bruce looked up and they both locked eyes for a moment, remembering the staff and the helicarrier and how Loki had manipulated events to allow his minions to track the staff’s spikes in gamma rays.

“...Right, yeah. Of course you know.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, it’s funny. When you changed, the visible wavelengths around you all shifted, which makes sense, but the core energy pattern didn’t. That’s something I couldn’t see in New York, because of all the competing patterns. The tesseract, the staff, the... what d’you call it? Seder?”

“Seidr,” Loki corrected, putting the accent where it belonged. “It’s a magical energy, not a meal.”

“However you say it, it’s weaker than I remembered from New York.”

“My seidr is exceptionally drained right now, so that’s not unexpected.”

“But that’s what I can see. It’s trying to replenish itself, but something keeps draining it.” Bruce looked up at Loki with an unreadable expression. “This realm’s energy isn’t helping you as much as you thought it would.”

“No. In fact, it seems much diminished, and eager to take whatever it finds. One wonders if that was how Odin kept Vanaheim in thrall, by forcing this realm to draw its power directly from Asgard, much as Hela did.”

“So without enough power to recharge, and with no way to properly heal yourself, what you’re saying is... that you're dying.”


	34. Sharp Edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pair of brothers, and two pairs of lovers, find themselves once again on uncertain ground, and Loki decides to take matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki stared at him blankly for a moment or two, and then laughed a little. “Bruce, please. And people call _me_ a drama queen.”

But the joke fell flat. “Dying?” Lyka whispered.

Thor stood up so fast, he knocked his chair backwards. “Does he speak the truth?” he demanded. “Loki?” His deep voice had gone hoarse and angry with abrupt emotion. “Are you—”

“No!” Loki shrugged off Banner’s concerned hand. “I’m not. I’m not! I’m just run down, that’s all!” His words fell into the room unheeded, flat and unconvincing.

“Highness,” said Heimdall gently.

“Oh, of course. The watcher knows all, I suppose. Why not turn your gaze on the Vanir court and tell us something useful, instead of spying on me?”

“You know that Sessrumnir is veiled from my sight. The Allfather willed it so, in the last treaty. It’s why we’ve always kept ambassadors there. And it’s not spying if you’re not trying to hide. And,” Heimdall continued, “you’ve been sloppy, my prince, once or twice.”

“I resent that implication.”

“...Fuck. The ship.” The Valkyrie rose and stalked towards Loki, who took an involuntary step back. “That mystery power drain. That was _you_.”

Loki offered his most placating grin, but he felt embarrassingly like a dog showing its belly in appeasement. “It was only for a few days. Until I could get back into the feel of this place! I—”

Valkyrie punched him squarely in the mouth, and stormed out.

“I think this council meeting is concluded,” Thor rumbled. His eye fixed on his brother. “All of you, leave me. I would speak with Loki, alone.”

Sif and Heimdall bowed and withdrew. Bruce offered to look at Loki’s jaw, and when the offer was refused, left as well, patting Thor’s arm as he ducked out. Lyka stayed a few moments more, braving the king’s displeasure to pour Loki water.

He caressed his jaw tenderly and swallowed the water with a grimace, tasting blood. “Thank you,” he said, before looking up and seeing Lyka’s face, angry and scared. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, tugging the end of her braid playfully. “Dr. Banner is prone to overreaction. It’s a common Midgardian failing. I’m not going anywhere just yet.”

“I shall hold you to that promise. Father.” Lyka gathered herself with painful dignity to bow to Thor before leaving, but she looked over her shoulder as she left, her eyes clinging to Loki.

“How can she go from so old to so young in only a few seconds?” he murmured. Thor loomed over him like the thundercloud that he threatened to become. “Perhaps we should go outside. It would be discourteous to the people of the Volkang if you started shooting off lightning in here and set all their royal trappings on fire.”

Thor grabbed him suddenly, and for one panicked moment, Loki thought he was being attacked. But then he relaxed into his usual state of brotherly annoyance. “Thor,” he gasped, thumping his brother’s shoulder. “Need to breath... chest...”

“Sorry, sorry.” Thor loosened the hug a fraction, but didn’t let go. His face was buried in Loki’s neck, and to Loki’s shock, he felt tears falling on his skin.

“Thor...” Gingerly, Loki patted the back of Thor’s head. The bristly hair was growing longer, and he stroked it softly. “It’s going to be fine.”

“How? If I’m going to lose you, too? I’ve mourned for you twice, Loki. I don’t know if I can survive doing it again.”

“You can. Because you have to. But I’m not dying, Thor. I’m not exactly _well_ , but I’m not dying.” He squirmed out of his brother’s embrace and made a show of smoothing his own hair and straightening his clothes. “Believe me, I know what dying feels like, and I’m not there yet.”

“Then we have to find a way to keep you from getting worse,” said Thor. He ground the heel of his hand into his eye for a moment and then dragged his arm over his face. “If there’s not enough power in this realm, then in another.”

“I don’t think it’s a question of the realm not having _enough_ power,” Loki hedged. “Simply that it’s not the sort of energy I need. I thought it was, but...” He spread his hands in a rueful gesture. “Apparently, I was wrong. Shocking, I know, but I suppose it was a question of probability. I was bound to be wrong about something eventually.”

“Is there anything else to be done? The energy transfer you’ve been doing with Brun, can that not heal you?”

“Thor, I could drain her to a husk and kill her in the process, and it still wouldn’t be enough. To completely heal myself using that technique, I’d need every Asgardian left, in an orgy the likes of which would make even the Grandmaster _blush_.” Which... really did not bear thinking about.

“You’re worse than you were on the ship. You haven’t been taking as much energy from her as before, have you? Why?”

“She needs to keep her strength up. She’s in charge of training, she’s...”

“Brother. Why?” Loki bit his lip and said nothing. “Because you love her.”

“...Yes. Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t look so upset. You could at least be happy for me, for once.”

“I am happy for you,” said Thor softly. “More than you know. I am overjoyed that you are no longer alone, but... Loki, she loves you, as well. And there are others here who love you, and would be glad and honored to help you, if only you would ask. Do you think my love for you is less than the Valkyrie’s?”

Loki deflected the heartfelt plea instinctively, without thinking. “I hope you’re not offering to sleep with me. Because if you are, I’m flattered, but you’re not really my type.”

“ _Stop it,_ ” Thor groaned.

“Good, because, I mean, _really_. Even I have my limits, Thor.”

“I wasn’t talking about—” Thor gave up and just grabbed Loki by the side of his throat, curling his fingers and cradling his brother’s neck. He could feel something there, beneath the skin, pulling on his own energies. “I’m basically just a big battery now,” he reminded Loki, giving him a little jolt.

But Loki gasped sharply and pushed him away. To Thor’s horror, there was a burn on Loki’s neck, where his hand had been. “I think your technique needs some refinement,” Loki said, shakily, trying again to laugh everything off. “So far all you’ve managed to do is electrocute me twice now.” He touched the reddened skin experimentally, gritting his teeth. “Not so bad... but I think perhaps you should keep your powers for yourself. You need to be strong, brother. For Asgard. Don’t worry so much about me. I still have other methods, and I’m not above using my ‘hero’ status to get someone to sleep with me. I’m _not_ dying, no matter what Banner says.” His grin was easy and wicked. “Our sister tried to get her claws on me twice, and I got free both times.” He thumped Thor’s arm in a friendly way and turned to go. “We should continue this council tomorrow. I think we were actually making some headway before the conversation got derailed...”

As he left Thor’s pavilion, he found Sif, who had been standing just outside, waiting and listening. She caught him by the hand as he passed, forcing him to pause. Loki looked down at her with a perplexed frown. “Lady Sif?”

She glanced back inside at Thor, making sure that he saw them both. Then, in full view of the king, she pulled Loki’s head down and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Loki froze.

_I would not have predicted this._

Much to his relief, she broke the kiss before he could lose himself in adolescent memories and kiss back.

“When she is weary,” said Sif, with a tone that spoke more of determination than of anything romantic, “come to me instead. Asgard needs _both_ its princes to be strong, and... we cannot lose you again.”

Something inside Loki, something he’d thought long dead and buried, broke free with a whine. He glanced at his brother and then touched her face gently. “I do not think it will come to that, old friend,” he said, very gruffly. “But I thank you, most humbly, for your generous offer.”

* * *

There was no one waiting for Loki when he returned to his tent. For the first time in... well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. She was never _waiting_ for him. But despite that, he was always fairly confident that she would turn up at some point before he sought his bed – or that she would welcome his company if he went to hers.

And for the first time, he was unsure of either of those things.

Well, if that was the way she wanted it, well then, fine. _Fine._

...He was at the Valkyrie’s tent before he realized his feet had even hit the path.

She didn’t immediately throw a knife at his head, when he ducked inside. That was a good sign, at least.

“Something I can do for you, prince?”

And that was a bad sign. “I wanted to see if you were all right. You left the council meeting rather abruptly.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Must’ve had something on my mind. Can’t imagine _what_.”

Loki pressed his lips together. _Damn you, Banner..._ “I’m _not_ dying, Brun. I don't know how many times I have to keep telling everyone that—”

“No, but you’re not getting any better, either. You tired too easily, you let yourself get rattled over nothing – you couldn’t even remember what information you were trying to get out of Sif tonight. It doesn’t matter what you do, or I do, or anything anyone else fucking does, because you’ve got a hole straight through your body and a damned martyr complex and you won’t even go to the fucking healers—”

This time she did hurl a knife at him, but it was a clumsy throw and he caught the blade easily between his fingers. “They've better things to do with their time. And they can’t help me.”

“You don’t know that. Or maybe you just really badly want it to be true.”

Scowling, Loki flipped the knife around and slammed it three inches into the center table. “You think I want to die? Now? When I’ve got everything I could possibly want? Respect, love, family—”

“And you’re too scared to accept any of it,” Valkyrie snarled back. “You won’t actually let Thor give you any kind of praise, you still haven’t formally adopted those kids, and you don’t trust me enough to ever outright ask for my help!”

Loki stared at her for a second or two, seething, and then turned away with a jerk. Valkyrie swore at his rigid back. “You’re a mess, Odinson. And maybe not all of that’s your fault, but if you don’t want to spend the rest of your _possibly very short_ life on my shit list, you’ve got to give me something to work with.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in trying to ‘fix’ me.”

“I’m not. I don’t hate myself that much. But I’m also not letting you die on my watch. So either you stop fighting me, or I’m done.”

“...Brun. All we do is fight each other.”

She rubbed her forehead tiredly. “Just get out, prince. Before I throw you out. I’m done.” There were tears stinging at her eyes and she needed to be alone before she could give way to them.

But instead of leaving, Loki stepped across the tent and quietly pulled her into his arms. “I did ask you for help once,” he reminded her gruffly, resting his cheek on her hair. “I asked you to stay with me. I didn’t want to sleep alone anymore. That hasn’t changed.”

Valkyrie clung tightly to his torso, digging her nails into the leather of his jacket. “Then you need to get your act together, Lackey.”

“Yes, dear.”

She snorted and punched him in the ribs, making Loki wince and then chuckle. “I’ll go to Eir tomorrow, I promise. Though I have to warn you, she’s going to be _most_ interested in the fascinating collection of bites and scratches and bruises you managing to keep giving me.”

“I will give her a detailed account of all of them for your medical records, if it means you’ll let her try and help.” She reached up and pulled him down for a kiss that was more teeth than anything else. “Show me.”

“What, the bruises?”

“No, _you_.”

Loki’s cheeky smiled faded. “It’s not me.”

“Why? Just because you don’t fuck people who consort with Frost Giants?”

“Oh, let’s not start that again.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes tightly closed. “That may be my blood, it may be _what_ I am, but it’s not _me_. I lived my entire life not knowing that truth about myself.”

“But you know it now. You know that it influenced how your parents treated you, you know damned well that you’ve spent the last few years letting that knowledge tear you apart from the inside out.” Valkyrie wrapped one hand gently but firmly around his throat, forcing him to open his eyes and look at her. “I spent a thousand years living like that. You really want to end up like me?”

“Of course,” said Loki softly. “Who wouldn’t want to end up as a Valkyrie?”

“Oh my god, Silvertongue, you are such a _dick_.” She kissed him again, less angrily this time, more frustrated. “Why do I love you?” she muttered.

“Pray I never find out,” he advised, his hands making short work of her clothes. “I’d be invincible.”

* * *

“Thank you, Sif,” said Thor, awkwardly, for the fifth time. “For what you said to Loki.”

And for the fifth time since Loki had left, Sif pressed her lips together and nodded as she went about her nightly routine. This time, though, she asked, “Are you upset by my offer?”

“No. It’s your right to bed whomever you like. We’ve made no promises. And it was a very generous thing to offer,” he added, almost shyly.

Sif’s smile was lopsided. “Do not think I do so out of any deeper regard for Loki. The closeness we had when we were young will not return, nor would I wish it to. My heart has long been given elsewhere. But it feels as though it is my duty, as one of the king’s warriors.”

Thor looked almost stricken. “No, never that,” he argued. “Never a duty. If you care for Loki in your heart—”

“My heart has no place in this.” She hesitated, and then sat on the edge of Thor’s bed. “Perhaps that is why the offer felt right.”

She felt out the words slowly, unsure of the path. “My duties to the throne have always come before my heart. When I was young, it was an honor and a privilege to put Odin’s needs, the needs of Asgard, before mine. Even when it caused me the greatest pain, what did that matter, when I was a shieldmaiden and a warrior of Odin, the only woman so honored since the fall of the Valkyries? And as I grew older, it became habit. My duty was my life, and my life, duty. When you fell in love with Jane Foster, and needed my help to free her, it... hurt. It hurt. But it was easier to put the pain to one side and do what needed to be done because you, my prince, asked it of me, not for friendship or love but for the sake of Asgard. For all the Nine Realms. When I went to find Lorelei on Earth, after her escape, I was asked if it was hard, to put her crimes against me in the past, to bring her back alive. And while the pain was as sharp as when it was new, the need to follow orders, to obey the warrior's code of Asgard and do my duty, was stronger than the cries of my heart.”

She fell silent, exhausted with the effort of speaking so much and so deeply. Thor said nothing, only sat down beside her and slowly covered her hand with his. And for a long time, there was only silence between them, and that one point of contact.

“Now... now, I do not know what my duty is.”

“The same as it’s always been,” Thor rumbled softly, squeezing her hand. “To protect Asgard.”

“So simple... If you had said to me, a few nights ago, that you wished to marry me for Asgard’s sake, I would have accepted without a second’s pause. It would have been my duty, and I am honor-bound to respect that. But you asked me for love, Thor. As a friend and a lover, and now it is a matter of the heart, and I know what I _want_ but... I don’t know what to do.” She took a deep breath. “I wonder if perhaps it isn’t time for me to return to Sessrumnir, to resume my diplomatic position at court. I think I might be of more use to you there.”

“I don’t want you to be ‘of use’ to me, Sif,” Thor retorted, turning to slide his free hand into her soft dark hair. “You are not required to always be ‘of use’ to the king and to Asgard. You proved yourself to be what you always knew yourself to be, a worthy warrior, and you proved it long ago, to my father, to me, to all the realms.” He pressed his palm against her cheek and felt her begin to tremble. “If you wish to leave, I won’t stand in your way, but... Sif. My friend... my love. Can you not allow yourself, just once, to take what you desire?”

“I... don’t know,” she said helplessly, closing her eyes and leaning into him. “I don’t know.”

* * *

In the low glow of the ghostlights, Loki tried to lose himself in the Valkyrie, their sex rougher and more urgent than either of them had needed in days.

“Is this all right?”

She responded by biting his blue shoulder hard enough to break the skin, making him gulp in air sharply, and tasting her in his very breath. “I take what I need when I need it, and so do you. That’s still the deal, Lackey.”

He returned the bite to her throat, growling I love yous into her pulse.

Afterward, when they were both wrung dry, they lay curling into one another, gently caressing all the skin they could touch, claiming and reclaiming every inch. She traced the lightly-raised markings on his face and chest, careful to avoid the slight burn on the side of his neck. “I wish I knew where these came from,” she murmured, brushing her index finger over the half-circles adorning his forehead like a coronet. “I used to know all the clan markings of the Jotnar. We used to make temporary alliances with some of the clans, before they united under Laufey’s banner, and we had to be able to tell friend from foe. But I don’t recognize these at all. They’re so delicate...”

“I’ve never been able to identify them,” Loki replied, stroking the space between her ribs and her hip with the back of his hand. “I never found a match in any of Asgard’s archival documents. All I know is that they look different from the markings on the few Frost Giants I ever personally encountered. They’re nothing like what Laufey sported.”

“The clan markings are passed down the mother’s line,” Valkyrie said, after a moment. “And between that and the hair... Loki, is it possible that you’re only half-Jotunn? I know you said it couldn’t be Freya, but maybe some other Vanir...?”

He shook his head. “I had that idea myself, once. And it’s an attractive theory, isn’t it? That perhaps I’m only half-monster. But I’ve done genetic tests on myself, over and over. And it’s always the same. A hundred percent Frost Giant.” Something dark slipped into his voice. “Unfortunately.”

She heard his tone and immediately set to work distracting him. No one knew better than she did how to turn Loki’s mind away from paths he was better off not walking.

Deep in the night, she lay spent and asleep against his side, with one of Loki’s arms curled lightly around her, and the other tucked behind his head. He was, frustratingly, wide awake. His body throbbed and ached and screamed for sleep, but his mind was racing.

Freya knew more, he was certain. But he also sensed in his bones that what she knew, both what she wanted to tell him and what she could not tell him, were not the things that he most needed to know.

Odin had known. And Frigga. And they... were gone.

There was no one left alive to tell him what he needed to know.

_**“Your foster mother was a good woman. Whatever secrets she kept from you, she did so with the sole aim of saving your life.”** _

_**“When I was near death, on Svartalfheim... I saw Mother. And sometimes, when the pain gets unbearable... I see her again.”** _

_**“You have no conception of what a mother will do to protect her children.”** _

_**“The only people who can tell me the truth are all dead.”** _

“Well then,” Loki murmured, “if that’s the only way...” He knew the ritual. Well, he mostly knew the ritual. Somewhat. He had never actually performed it himself, only watched Odin by using a scrying spell, since the king had always insisted upon solitude before attempting it. And Loki had only managed that once. Three hundred years ago. And he’d earned himself a hell of a whipping for his troubles.

_I can’t hold that beating against Odin... I deserved it, for my clumsiness. But he didn’t catch me in time. I’m certain I remember the way of it... And after all, once you’ve already been to the land of the dead, how hard can it be to find your way back?_

But he would need an Asgardian blade. His own daggers, gifts from Frigga centuries before, were long gone. And if this was to work, he couldn’t use just any convenient sharp edge...

_Oh._

He kissed Valkyrie’s forehead and eased her head from his shoulder, and slipped out of bed. Silently clothing himself and resuming his Asgardian form, he veiled himself in shadows and vanished from the tent, taking her dragonfang sword with him.


	35. Scar Tissue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki begins his search for answers, but before he goes, he makes himself a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the screaming commence.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

The truth, Loki mused as he quietly untied the fine gray mare, was that he had no clear idea of how long he would live. That was partly due to his inflated sense of his own invulnerability, which he freely admitted and which hadn’t changed since he was a boy. But after first discovering his true heritage, and then falling from the Bifrost, and the battle on Midgard, and falling in battle on Svartalfheim, he was not only unsure of what day it was, sometimes, but also completely ignorant of his own possible lifespan. 

The texts he’d studied on Asgard, during and after his imprisonment, had been wildly contradictory regarding the life cycle of the Jotnar, and he had not been able to bring himself to visit the realm, even cloaked in invisibility, to find out more. Some of the old books said they had comparable lifespans to Asgardians, others claimed that they burned themselves out after a millennium or two, and still others said that the Frost Giants had always been and would always be, and that for one to be born was a rarity and an omen of fell tidings.

Loki didn’t like to speculate about that possibility very much.

He saddled the mare and silently rode her out of Volkang, using a simple spell to deaden the sound of her hooves and so prevent any of the Vanir from realizing that someone was borrowing one of their horses. Especially Councilor Freya, since it was her horse. To be doubly safe, he took a roundabout route, heading west.

It felt good to be riding again, out in the woods, out at night, planning elaborate tricks as he had in his youth. Only this time it was no mere jest he had in mind. If he was successful, he would have the answers he sought, and leverage with which to feed his people, and perhaps, even, a chance to say a proper goodbye. 

And if he was not successful... well, at least he’d avoid the beating he knew the Valkyrie would have waiting for him, for taking her sword.

When he reached the trysting brook, a mile or so away from the village, Loki turned the mare’s head south, and rode through the woods to rejoin the track that led up into the mountains. Though it was something he did not care to boast of too freely, he knew the countryside and mountains around Volkang _very_ well, even better than Thor did. One of the first portals he had ever crafted, after learning the skill, had led from Asgard to Vanaheim. No grand causeway, just a small doorway between realms that only he could open, with one end in the palace’s wine cellar, and the other in a cave deep in the Vanir mountains. It was a place to run to for silence when his brother’s carousing in the feasting hall became too idiotic. Later he’d added a second entrance, in the cellar of his and Thor’s favorite rustic tavern in the far reaches of Asgard’s capital, and it had also become a place to bring his lover of the night when the inn’s rooms were full to overflowing. 

It had been to that portal, and that cave, where Loki had fled after Harald’s death and Gudrun’s denouncement of him. Sigyn had been with him that night, holding him tightly as he sobbed on her shoulder, both of them wrapped in his cape as though it could shield the tatters remnants of his heart from further hurt. And though Asgard was gone, the end of the portal that was grounded in Vanaheim had to still be there, and with a little manipulation, Loki knew he could utilize its power for his own purposes.

When he could go no further on horseback, he slipped the bit from the mare’s mouth and removed the bridle. “Good girl,” he murmured, patting her neck. “There, that’s better, hmm?” She was an amiable beast and turned her head to nuzzle at his hands. Loki smiled wistfully. “Good girl.” He took a bundle from the saddlebag and slipped the bridle into its place before turning the horse loose on a patch of grass beside a stream. She would drink her fill and graze, and then eventually she would amble back to the camp no worse for wear for her nighttime journey. 

Loki filled a water skin at the stream, tied it to the bundle, and then strapped it to his back. He cast a glow from his hand, weak but serviceable, to the light his way, and turned aside from the track to climb the steeper path up the side of the mountain to the cave. It was a much more difficult process than he had recalled.

“If it were easy,” he reminded himself, his grin taunt and stiff, “everyone would do it.” 

His chest burned. He could feel the long path of the wound from the Kursed blade pulling and tearing inside him, as the last of the energy he had managed to gather from Brun and from the realm failed, and all the damage that had healed over the last four years finally began to break apart. He was no healer, but he knew enough field medicine to perform basic internal scans, and he had cataloged his injuries after returning to Asgard in disguise. The Kursed blade had torn through his stomach and liver, ripped gouges in his left lung and through his heart, and come out between his spine and his scapula, breaking ribs and shredding nerves. 

And right now, Loki could feel every single one of those injuries all over again. He could _feel_ his muscles unraveling, his organs degenerating. There was more scar tissue than substance in there now, he was fairly certain. 

The fact that he wasn’t literally a walking corpse yet was astonishing, especially to him, because Loki really had no idea why he wasn’t dead yet, either from the hole in his torso or from anything else that had happened in the last several weeks. All of the methods he had been using to keep himself upright and functioning had been, he thought, little more than stopgaps, though they had worked well enough at first. It would have been nice to have had a chance to consult with Eir, because he was as curious as anyone... but there was too much at stake to risk someone discovering what he was hiding. 

And some things it was simply better to bear alone.

The climb became steeper, the rocks sharper and less firm underfoot, and he had to rest several times and take cautious sips from the water skin. It hurt to swallow. Once, he doubled over gagging and nearly fell back down the cliffside path. He kept his footing, but lost the small light he had been casting and could not summon it back. When he wiped his mouth, he felt a tell-tale warm wet smear, and tasted iron and salt. “Damn.”

He resumed his climb in darkness, wishing he’d thought to bring gloves. The sharp rocks made short work of the palm guards on his vambraces, and his hands were covered in small nicks and cuts. He was leaving a trail in blood that anyone could follow. 

_Well, if this doesn’t work, at least they'll find my body. Eventually. Hopefully before the vultures do._

The stars glared down at him disapprovingly, and Loki heard a familiar chiding voice at the very back of his thoughts. 

_“This is less than wise, my son.”_

He smiled, his lips peeling back over his teeth, and climbed on. “Hello, Mother,” he said, wincing as another bit of shale sliced open his palm. “I’ll be seeing you very soon. And I hope you’re prepared to meet me, because I have some questions for you.”

_“Freya could have told you what you need to know.”_

“No, she could’ve told me _facts_. I want more than simply what I _need_ to know. I want the _truth_. I want to know about the woman who gave birth to me, and why you told Odin to take me, and why you hid my children, and what happened to my wife.”

_“You are dying, Loki.”_

“Then I’m dying. But I won’t die without answers.”

_“Those are not the answers you need right now.”_

“Forgive my impertinence, Mother, but I have to disagree.” He found a smooth, stable stone and curled his bleeding hand around it and hauled himself forward another few feet. 

_“Loki. Please.”_

“You know, I have no idea if you’re really here, or if this is just wishful thinking on my part. Or maybe I’m going mad. Madder. But I know one thing.” The loose flakes became firm under his boots. “I tried to die out of despair. And then I tried to die for redemption. And neither of them worked.” A sturdy, stubborn, gnarled tree thrusting out of the rock gave him purchase for another few steps. “I don’t know why. Maybe I have a part to play. Maybe the Norns just enjoy toying with me.”

He could see the mouth of the cave, oval and slightly squashed and hidden from above by an enormous tree whose roots and moss made a curtain for his hiding place. “I do not intend to die this night. I am not done with living. But if it is my time, then I know one simple thing.” He stumbled forward a few paces and fell to his knees inside the cave, his fingers clawing up bits of the stone floor as pain ripped through him. “If I die tonight, then the other side _will regret it_.”

Loki felt a hot wind blow through his hair, and then the presence, if presence it had been, was gone, and he was alone. He stayed hunched over for a few minutes, until the tension in his chest eased and he could breathe a bit easier. _Either that,_ he thought, with a grim little smile, _or else I’ve started rotting from the inside out and just can’t feel anything anymore._

He struggled to his feet, and let the bundle slip from his back to thud onto the floor. He pressed his hands to the walls and tried not to throw up while he regained his equilibrium and his balance. The portal _was_ still there, he could feel it. Could practically see it, though the interior of the cave was pitch-black. He pressed one shoulder to the wall of the cave to keep himself upright, and held out his hands, feeling for the warp and weft of the portal’s doorway and trying to pull it open. 

After a little while of Loki scrambling to find the ends of enough threads, he was finally able to tug the door open enough to allow him a little access to the portal. The ends of the pathway drifted dangerously in the Void, and he would have to seal or redirect them as soon as possible, lest something foul find its way into the realm. And he would not allow that to happen again, not through his own magic. But... later, he would have to do that later.

Loki collapsed to the smooth stone floor, panting, trembling, wrung out, before drawing on the portal's energy to cast a weak light over his surroundings. It was all much as he remembered it: rough amber walls and a floor as smooth as glass. It had been his secret trying retreat, after all: it had needed to be a _little_ inviting. There had been a cache of blankets in a chest, at one point, but though he found the remains of the chest, it was empty. Most likely someone had found the contents and taken them home to marvel over... But the wood that remained would be useful. He dragged the back of his hand over his face, mopping away some of the sweat. 

Then he set to work unbuckling his leather greaves by sense of touch. His fingers shook, and the buckles took longer to undo than they should have. He pulled off the greaves and his boots, and sighed with relief.

He rested for a while, taking small sips of water and grimacing with each swallow. The Allfather, he remembered, had drunk some sort of fortifying potion before his journey, made of strength-giving apples and herbs to enhance his Sight. Loki had nothing but clear Vanaheim spring water to give him courage. But then, Odin had also possessed the power to travel bodily into Niflheim. Loki had neither the energy nor the experience, so he would have to do things a little more... fundamentally. 

He touched his chest and then sucked in a sharp breath. The leather front of his jacket was sodden. He peeled the jacket off and tossed it to one side, his nose wrinkling at the sudden smells of blood and pus. _Oh,_ he thought vaguely. _That’s not good._

He unwrapped the bundle he had carried up the mountain and laid out his tools. Flint and steel, thin rope, salt tied up in a scrap of cloth. And the dragonfang. To the untrained eye, apart from the sword, it looked like little more than the barest means of survival. But a sorcerer knew better.

With the blade and the salt, he cast a circle to contain the spell, making it wide enough so that if he collapsed, which was altogether too likely, he would not break the wards. With the flint and steel and the wood from the chest, he started a fire. He split the dragonfang into two, and with every ounce of strength he could muster, he drove the smaller blade into the solid rock of the cave’s floor. 

The effort tore something in his chest, and his scream broke through his clenched teeth. He fell forward onto his bleeding hands, gasping for air. Every breath was like being impaled all over again. 

“No!” he snarled. “You can _do_ this.” 

With more stubbornness than strength, he pushed himself upright again, and tied one end of the rope around the dagger’s haft. The other end he looped around his waist, knotting it firmly and speaking low words of power to tether himself to this place and this realm. He had visited Niflheim before and he knew the way, knew too that if he put himself just on the cusp of death, he could find his way there again. Of course, getting to the realm of the dead was always the easy part... and he was weaker than he liked to admit. Near enough to death for the veil between realms to be thin.

But he had to be careful. 

He took the long blade of the dragonfang, laid its point lightly against the wound below his breastbone. Closing his eyes, Loki visualized the line of the blow. He had to follow the original path of the Kursed blade precisely, or else he risked severing his spinal cord and paralyzing himself, or killing himself outright. If he died by his own hand, the doors of the golden halls of Valhalla – already an unlikely possibility – would forever be closed, and Frigga would be lost to him.

And damn it, if this didn’t work, he at least wanted a chance to be with his mother. 

With one hand firm on the hilt, Loki stretched the other end out to the half-open portal, drawing its power to him and to the blade. He could feel the fell, familiar chill of the other side reaching out to him. 

“It will not keep me,” he vowed, though only he was there to hear it. “I _will_ come back.” And closing his eyes, Loki wrapped both hands around the dragonfang’s hilt and thrust the blade up into the wound in his chest.


	36. Afterthoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s arrival in Niflheim leads to unexpected meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any clarification is needed, I’m playing fast and loose with Norse mythology in this fic. Trust me, I know I’m being inaccurate to the _Eddas_. And to the comics. And to the films, in some instances. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Alone in his tent, Thialfi Haraldson woke suddenly, sitting bolt-upright in the darkness. His heart raced as though he had been running, and his ears strained to hear the last bits of the dream he had been shocked out of. “Hello?” he said hoarsely. “Is someone... hello?”

“Go to Loki.”

He flinched and drew his legs to his chest, not in fear but in reflexive surprise. That voice... he had heard it before... hadn’t he? “Who are you?”

“Go to Loki,” the voice said again. “Go now.”

Thialfi opened his mouth to demand her name. Then something licked his hand, and he yelped sharply and pressed himself against the corner of his tent, pulling his bedroll up to his chin. “This is a dream,” he muttered shakily. “This is a bizarre dream and I am still asleep.” Something whined insistently in his ear. Something doglike.

A glow of a foxfire lantern appeared outside the flap of his tent. “Thialfi?” Lyka called softly. “Are you all right?”

“Nightmare,” he said. “I’m fine, I... it’s fine.”

“What’s that noise?”

“Noise?”

The thing in his tent barked.

“Oh shit, it’s real. Lyka, be careful!”

But she had already ducked inside, the lantern in her hand. “Thialfi, what... Where did that dog come from?”

Thialfi blinked in the light and rubbed the grogginess from his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said, dazed and trying to fend off the determined licks and whines of the scraggly, brindle-colored dog. “I was dreaming, and there was a woman’s voice, and then suddenly... dog.” He blinked and stared at the animal, who gazed back at him with one blue eye and one brown, and frowned. “Lyka... this is my dog.”

“You’ve never had a—oh. Oh! You mean Garm? The stuffed dog?”

“Yes. The one I used to pretend... the one I used to be able to turn into a real dog.”

Lyka sank slowly to her knees, stroking the dog’s head slowly. “Thialfi... what did the woman’s voice say?”

“To go to Loki, now.”

The siblings locked eyes for a moment, and then Thialfi threw off the blankets and grabbed his clothes.

* * *

He had forgotten. He had... he should have prepared himself for the falling.

Loki lay very still. He was on the ground, on his stomach, his head pillowed on his bent arm. The ground beneath him was cold, damp, and rocky. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, and touched his chest with a frown.

The wound was gone.

He pursed his lips for a moment and then picked up a sharp rock. He dragged the edge across the tender skin of his inner forearm. Nothing.

It had worked. He was in Niflheim, a mere shadow of himself... He let his eyes slide closed and reached back into the aether. Yes, there he was, flat on his back within the circle of salt, the glowing blue blade of the dragonfang protruding from his chest. The connection to his body and to Vanaheim was stable... but it was weak. He had no idea how long it would last, but in his professional estimation, the answer was ‘not long. At all.’

Loki shivered. He was unused to feeling cold at the best of times, which this was... emphatically not, but the eerie chill of the place went past mere temperature. It seeped into the bones, turning the brain slow and the blood sluggish. And beyond that, as his eyes swept over the vast and endless plain of rock, driftwood, and fog, looking for any sign of color in the infinite shades of black and grey, was the cold damp clutch of recognition.

He had been here before. And even though he had planned this return... well, it was not the right of the living to feel easy, within the borders of Niflheim.

It wasn’t particularly the right of the dead, either. There was nothing about Niflheim that promoted comfort or rest. It was a place of...nothingness, of exclusion. It was the place where the dead were shunted when they weren’t good enough for the paradise of Valhalla or bad enough for the punishments of Nastrond.

It was where the afterthoughts went.

“You know,” he said aloud, more to hear something, anything, than with any hope of a reply, “for all the striving I did, as a young man, trying to be a mighty warrior, this is still always where I assumed I’d end up one day. When I wasn’t feeling totally atheistic, of course.”

Nothing answered. The mist swirled around him in thick shrouds, and then parted to reveal a path through the fog. Loki squinted. He could not see where the path ended, but he remembered traveling along it before, so he got to his feet.

How long he walked, he did not know. There was an odd ambient light but neither sun nor stars, and no way to judge the passage of time. What did time mean, to the dead? So Loki kept walking. It was all he could do, so he kept his face forward and one mental hand on the invisible rope tethering his soul to his body.

His feet made no sound on the gravel path, and his ears strained to hear something, anything. Soon, he began to be aware of a rushing, crashing, shambling sort of sound, like rocks and water all mixed together. Loki quickened his pace. He was close. At last, he was close.

The mist burned away as he approached, and the sound became louder and louder until it was a nearly unbearable noise, until at last he was standing on the banks of the Gjoll, the river which separated the realm of Niflheim from the halls of Valhalla. And spanning the bridge was the golden bridge of the Gjallarbru, warded by three well-armed guards.

As Loki stepped forward cautiously, bracing himself for yet another frustrating encounter with the guards, something about them seemed... different.

“You’re... you’re a Valkyrie,” he said, as a wondering smile spread across his face. “You’re all Valkyries. I don’t remember that from last time... were you here before?”

The guard on the left looked down at him from a lofty height, and said nothing. She was taller even than Thor and probably could have thrown him over her shoulder and run a mile without sweating, and there was something in her expression of mild resignation that said, ‘You _again_?”

He took a deep breath. “I am Loki, of Asgard.”

“We know who you are. You have been here before. And our answer is the same. You may not cross, son of Laufey.”

“Son of Odin,” he corrected. “And I do not wish to cross. I know I am not worthy of stepping foot in Valhalla. But there is one whom I would have called forth from the golden hall to speak with me. I wish to see my mother. Frigga. Wife of Odin. Queen of Asgard. If I cannot go to her, then I ask that she be brought to me. I have questions that must be answered.”

“And what right do you have to make such a demand?” the Valkyrie retorted. “Kings may come here to speak with the dead. You are—”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. His shoulders went back, and despite standing in the mists of the land of the dead, bare-footed and bare-chested, he was enrobed in regal dignity. “I have sat on the throne of Asgard, both in legitimacy and usurpation. I am the hereditary king of Jotunheim. I do indeed have that right. And...” His voice wavered, humiliatingly, like a child’s. “I need to see her.”

The middle guard, a graceful and fair woman with long pale hair, seemed strangely moved by his plea. “I cannot take you across,” she said, “but I will take a message to the halls. If it is Frigga’s desire to come, then I will bring her to you.”

“I thank you,” Loki said, very quietly, to keep his voice from shaking further.

She turned and went, treading the golden boards of the bridge with long, steady strides. And then another Valkyrie shimmered into solidity and took her place, once again blocking the way across.

Loki shivered again. He wrapped his arms around his bare torso, hugging himself against the chill. “It feels different,” he murmured. “It looks much the same but it feels... even more forlorn, than when I was here last. How is that possible?”

“The realm has lost its ruler,” said the Valkyrie simply.

“No great loss. I would’ve thought that with Hela gone, this place would perk up a bit.”

“It was not meant to be this way. Niflheim is a realm unto itself, with its own powers. The dead who come here ought by design to be able to begin their lives anew. But Hela was uninterested in being Queen of the Dead. To rule the dead requires mercy, and Death has no mercy.”

“It’s a family trait,” Loki muttered.

The pale-haired Valkyrie returned, not to her place on the bridge, but beside Loki on the rocky Niflheim bank. “Did you see her?” he asked eagerly. “What did she say?”

“It is not yet her time to appear.”

“‘Not yet her time?’” Loki repeated. “Really? I’m risking my life to do this and my mother’s going to stand on formalities? _...Really?_ ”

“She must abide by the rules of this place. And do you not risk your life all the time in less worthy pursuits?”

“Well, yes, but that’s _fun_.”

The Valkyrie simply looked at him, making him feel about two inches tall. “Be at peace, Odinson. Another will come.”

Unable to do anything else, Loki sat down on the rocky ground, and waited, unable to cross to Valhalla and unwilling to go back. He felt the eyes of Niflheim’s inhabitants, invisible in the mists, on the back of his neck, watching him.

“What do they want?”

“To be at peace. To cross the river. They are here because they are not worthy of Valhalla.”

“Most people are not worthy of Valhalla.”

“It is not battle that makes for a glorious death, nor passing in one’s bed surrounded by family an ignoble one. Deeds, Odinson, make a good death. Or a bad one.”

“Then how do the dead atone?”

“Some cannot. Until another sits in the high chair in Niflheim’s hall, none can.”

“I hope that’s not an insinuation.”

“No. You are better than you were when first you came here, but you are not fit to be a king.”

“I ruled in Asgard for four years,” retorted Loki, rather stung. “The realm prospered under my care.”

“You ruled in the Allfather’s name, as the Allfather. You would have ruled Midgard in the name of Thanos. You may yet one day rule in Jotunheim, but it will not be in your name. You were born of the shadows, Loki, son of Odin, and shadows cannot be kings in the light.”

Her words cut furrows in his heart, but what welled up from the wounds was not anger or lacerated pride. No, instead his chest clenched and his stomach churned with the pain of a deep, shameful _relief_.

The pale-haired warrior smiled and touched his bare shoulder lightly. “There is no shame in accepting that your place in the world is not the most glorious one. The world needs shadows.”

“Oh yes. To allow the light to shine all the more brightly.”

“Yes. And sometimes, to give respite from the light.” She turned her eyes towards the bridge, seeing something that was as yet beyond Loki’s vision. “They come.”

He frowned. “‘They’?”

She grasped his shoulder briefly and walked back towards the bridge. As she did so, she faded from his view, as did the other Valkyrior. In their place were left two vague, shining shapes slowly coalescing into recognizable forms.

In shock, Loki’s hands flew up, palms out, as though to ward off an attack.

“Well met, my prince.”

At the sound of the voice, so long lost to him, Loki thought his heart might fly from his chest. “Harald,” he whispered.


	37. Hearts and Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spirits of Loki’s dead lovers have things to tell him, and quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one tonight, sorry about that. Also, a couple of things:
> 
> 1) To the lovely person who keeps leaving me amazing comments and then deleting them: Please stop doing that! Give me a chance to answer you! ♥
> 
> 2) To the people who are speculating about what’s going to happen next in the comments: Please keep doing that! That’s **incredible**! But please don’t be disappointed when I don’t respond to the speculative parts of your comments. I really appreciate all the thought and time you’re putting into this, but I don’t want to give away spoilers. ♥
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki gazed at his dead lovers in dumbfounded shock. They smiled at him as they came closer, looking exactly as they had the last time he had seen them in life, young and bright and shining. “I’m sorry,” he found himself saying, his words a thin breath through his lips. “I’m so sorry, both of you...”

Harald stepped forward and drew Loki against his broad chest. “Oh, shut up,” he said huskily, and kissed him. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything to stop Lorelei.”

“I could have, I—” 

“No, you could not have. Not then. Now, yes. Remember that, my love. But then? You did everything you could have.”

“You did,” Gudrun insisted, pulling Loki away from her husband and holding him close. “And I rewarded you with hatred.” Her blue eyes gazed up at him, as real and deep as they had been the last time he had seen them. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I do.... I do, but I-I don’t understand,” Loki said, framing Gudrun’s face in his hands and resting his forehead against hers. “Why did the Valkyrie bring you? I came looking for my mother?”

Harald wrapped his arms around Loki’s waist, nuzzling between his shoulder blades. “You daft sorcerer,” he scolded lovingly. “You of all people should know that contacting the dead never works out the way you think it will. Not even for kings.”

“...Well, it was worth a _try_.”

Gudrun laughed softly and pulled him in for a kiss, running her fingers through his hair. “I want to thank you, beloved.”

“We both do,” Harald agreed. 

“For...?”

“For looking after our children,” Gudrun said pointedly, as though he ought to have known.

“I did nothing,” he said bitterly. “I only found them again recently. I didn’t even know that you were gone until long after it was too late to help.”

“There was nothing you could have done.” 

“I could have come to you. I know I’m no healer, but I could have at least helped with the children while you were ill, seen to your day-to-day needs—” 

“Ah, so domestic. You always were my second husband, you know,” said Gudrun, with tears in her eyes. “But Loki... I wasn’t ill.” 

“But... Lyka and Thialfi, they told me that was why they were taken away by the queen, because you could no longer care for them.” 

“I was a widow, with children who were in someways yours. I had to leave them with people I knew could protect them, when I left.” 

“You _left_?”

“I had my orders.”

“Whose orders?”

“Your mother’s.”

Loki fell silent, too stunned to respond, until Harald pulled him close again. “We need privacy,” Harald murmured, between lingering kisses. 

“Harald, sweet, I’m flattered, but—”

“Not for that, you arse,” he said wistfully. “To _speak_. We have difficult things to discuss and there isn’t much time.” He touched Loki’s chest, just below his breastbone. “Not much time at all.”

“...Are you _sure_ we don’t have time for...?”

Gudrun rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist. “Let’s go, beloved.”

They left the banks of the Gjoll and walked deeper into Niflheim. The chill mist seemed to burn away as Harald and Gudrun’s shining forms passed through it, allowing Loki to see more of the landscape. Such as it was. 

At last they came upon a hall, but it was unlike any Loki had ever seen. He raised his eyes to the forbidden dark structure, gulped, and drew closer to Harald’s side. “What is this place?”

“The hall Eljudnir,” said Harald, “where Hela once lived out the long centuries of her exile.” He put an arm around Loki’s bare torso and hugged him briefly. “Come.”

“Is it safe?”

Harald chuckled softly. “My prince, we are _dead_. What can hurt us now?”

“I’m not dead, and I intend to stay that way.”

“Then we need to hurry,” Gudrun reminded him, taking his hand. “Now come on.”

They led him up the steep path, helping to point out the pitfall at the door. Harald pushed at the weathered door, which opened with a creak and a shudder. 

“If I’d been condemned to a thousand years of _this_ ,” Loki muttered, “I’d’ve been pissed at Odin, too.”

“It was not always like this.” Harald waved his hand at the tattered tapestries and the overturned tables, and at the end of the hall, the broken bed half-hidden in an alcove covered with torn curtains. “Since Hela’s departure, the hall is overrun with the dead.” At his words, a few ghastly-white figures broke from the shadows and skittered away. “Her servants have fled, and any who wish take what houseroom they can find. But our presence, and yours, have disturbed them.”

“We cannot stay long,” said Gudrun, leading Loki to the hearth. “By rights, none of us should be here, and we are denying the dead what little peace they have. But at least while we are here, we will have privacy.”

They dragged a bench from the broken feasting board over so they could huddle by the driftwood fire that Harald kindled. Loki hunched bare, tired shoulders over the green flames. “If you didn’t send me away for my crimes... then why? Why did Mother tell you to leave?”

Gudrun licked her lips and curled her fingers through his. “When I first fell in love with you,” she said slowly, “your mother asked me to end the affair. She did not order me to do so; I think she was wise enough to know that such an order would have been impossible for me to keep. But she... warned me.”

Loki wasn’t sure he wanted her to continue. “...Of?”

“She warned me that... that to give my heart, and yet not my hand, to the second son would be a hard life. And she asked me...” Gudrun swallowed hard, as her lips began to tremble. “She asked me to make a choice. She asked me either to break my betrothal to Harald, and wed you, or else to end my affair with you entirely.”

“And you refused to do either,” Loki murmured, his eyes shining. 

“I refused then. And she gave way. And then a hundred years later... so did I.” She wiped the back of her hand across her face. “After Harald was gone, I realized... I realized that Frigga had been right. I could not handle lying to you anymore, but I couldn’t tell you the truth... so I drove you away.”

Harald sat down beside Loki, and kissed his hair while he sobbed on Gudrun’s shoulder. 

“Why did you leave?” he asked again, when he was calm. “You said you had orders...oh.” Loki’s eyes slid closed in realization. “You were an eye of the crown. And Mother was, too. Why did I simply assume that she gave that up, in order to marry the king?”

Gudrun’s smile was deeply apologetic. “She was more than merely another eye of the crown, my love. Frigga was the leader of the Koronaugu.”

“...I should be surprised by that, but honestly, I’m losing the ability to be shocked.” He pushed a hank of dark hair out of his eyes. “So what happened?”

“It was a delicate assignment,” Gudrun said, hugging one knee to her chest. “There were rumblings of serious discontent in Ljosalfarheim, and Asgard needed ears in the court. My mother was a Light Elf and I knew their ways, so Frigga sent me.” She twitched elegant shoulders in a tight shrug. “For a time, I was taken for no more than what I seemed to be: a foreign visitor, a court lady with her head full of new fashions. Then my cover was penetrated, and I was... executed.”

Loki’s jaw tightened. “So you were the spy... the one Sif mentioned the Light Elves in Sessrumnir bragging about killing.” 

“They’re still talking about me, over five hundred years later? I’m flattered.”

“They did more than execute you,” said Loki, his voice soft and dark in his chest. “And when I get back—” 

“You’re going to have bigger problems on your hands when you get back, I’m afraid, my prince,” Harald said, sitting down beside him and laying his callused palm on Loki’s chest, just below his breastbone. “You’ve not got much time left.”


	38. Secrets of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's absence is noticed... and his presence ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“He’s not here,” Thialfi said, ducking out of the tent, the strange rangy dog keeping close to his heels. “And his bed hasn’t been slept in.”

Lyka glanced at Heimdall. “Should we check the Valkyrie’s tent?”

“He’s not there, either,” said the woman in question, coming up behind them and making all but Heimdall jump. “He was with me earlier, but he slipped out after I was asleep.” She raked her eyes over Lyka and Thialfi, frowned at the dog, and then jerked her chin at the watcher. “And you can’t see him?”

Heimdall shook his head. “That may mean nothing. Loki has always had a talent for evading my sight.”

“It means something this time,” said Valkyrie, with barely-controlled anger. “He took my sword.”

“He took the dragonfang?” Heimdall froze for a moment, then turned on his heel and ran to the king’s tent. “Your majesty,” he called, rapping hard once on the tent’s frame before ducking inside without further announcement.

He found Thor already up and dressing, and Sif awake at the table, pouring over maps in a state of uncaring undress. “My king, your brother is—”

“Missing, I know. And he’s probably done something stupid and rash. I know.”

“...How?”

Thor tightened the straps of his wrist guards. “I had a dream, or I think it was a dream. Of my mother. We have to hurry.”

* * *

Loki shivered again, this time with pleasure. With Harald’s hand on his chest and Gudrun stroking his back gently, he felt utterly enveloped by them. He felt warm... safe... cared for. Adored. “I can’t go back yet,” he murmured, trying not to lose himself in their touches. He looked down, marveling at how the glow of Valhalla that they had brought with them across the bridge seemed to linger on his skin with each brush of Harald’s fingers, before sinking away. “I didn’t get what I came for.”

Harald and Gudrun looked at each other briefly, and Loki saw a silence moment of communication pass between them, in the manner of people long accustomed to one another’s company. “What else do you need?”

“To speak to Frigga.”

“She can’t come to you right now.”

“Why not?” Loki demanded bluntly.

Gudrun hesitated. Her hand pressed hard against the back of his ribs, an odd place for a caress... “Beloved... please.”

“‘Beloved, please.’ Please what? Please stop asking for the impossible? I know the dead cannot lie to the living, so stop avoiding the question.” A horrible thought occurred to Loki. “Unless... Frigga is not in Valhalla.”

“Beloved, no,” Gudrun soothed, turning his face so that she could kiss away his sudden terror. “No, she dwells there. No one could have denied her, after the sacrifice she made.”

“It... it was my fault,” Loki whispered. “My fault, all of it. And I know I’ll never see her again. But I’d hoped, doing this, that I’d at least be able to say goodbye...”

Harald pulled him into a bear hug. “Stop this,” he all but ordered. “The queen could have run to hide. She chose not to. Take what blame is yours, and leave the rest the dignity of their own ends, untainted by your guilt.”

“And you may yet see her again,” Gudrun added, rubbing his back gently. “What do you think Valhalla is for, if not to allow the best and the brightest souls to rest for a time before being reborn anew?”

“That... happens?”

“Sometimes,” Harald murmured, his lips soft in Loki’s hair. “If a person’s spirit is strong enough, and they wish to see the world again. Sometimes, though, even here, they may find other uses for their recovered strength.”

“So there’s still a chance...”

“Always.” Gudrun tugged him away to hold him in her arms. “She would never stay away from you voluntarily.”

“I thought that, once, but she... kept so many secrets from me. Kept our children from me, tried to keep _you_ from me...”

“No, Loki, not us. Frigga knew how deeply we loved you. She never sought to separate you and Harald. She even took pains to suppress the most damaging rumors about you, until it proved impossible. And when I realized I was not strong enough to bear the duties of the crown alongside of loving you... she never ordered me to be cruel to you, when I sent you away. That was my doing, in my grief... solely mine. And she was livid with me.”

“And... leaving the Koronaugu instead? Was that never an option?”

Gudrun shook her head. “The eyes of the crown are chosen because they have no one. The order was the only family I possessed. They gave me everything. I could have left, yes, but... I also could not.”

Loki searched his heart for anger, and found none. His emotions felt distance and dimmed... save for his joy at being in the presence of his lovers again. But even that was beginning to fade as his confusion mounted. “And the children? Why did Mother keep them from me? And Sigyn, she... Norns, was _she_ an eye of the crown as well?”

But Gudrun shook her head. “If she was, she never gave sign of it to me. No, she was simply one of your Mother’s guards, given over to watch over you, and that was aught I knew of her. But there was always something about Sigyn... something she knew, that she was holding back. Not out of love or fear or duty, but because she could not tell the words.”

“You think she was under geas? A spell of secrecy?”

“It’s possible. She was the queen’s confidante for many centuries, and perhaps there were things she was required to know that Frigga wanted to be certain she could never reveal.”

“Not even to me?”

“Perhaps especially not to you.”

“I was her husband!” Loki snapped.

“You were her prince first, and the son of her queen. And,” Gudrun continued, looking very keenly at him, and speaking with a directness that he could not ignore, “a geas takes no notice of family loyalties. Remember that.”

“You and Harald are telling me to remember a great many things, but not why they are important. And you are still pointedly _not_ telling me what I came to find out.”

“We’ve told you all that we’re free to say, my prince,” Harald replied sadly, stroking Loki’s chest with his roughened, gentle hands. “We could perhaps tell you more, if you would ask the right questions, but there is no time.”

“Time? What is time to the dead?”

“You have no more time,” Harald repeated. “We’ve done all we could, told you all we can—”

“Who holds your tongues in chains? Who rules in Valhalla to say, ‘Do not tell Loki what he needs to know?’”

“No one rules in Valhalla! There are no kings or commoners. But there are laws, Loki,” Gudrun insisted. “It is not for the living to know all the secrets the dead took with them into the funeral fires. You are neither a king nor a witch: you are a sorcerer and a shadow, and too clever for your own good. And if you don’t return to the land of the living soon, you will not be able to. Do you understand me? Then you will have all the answers you seek, but you will be powerless to use those answers. And you _need_ to go back, Loki. You are needed.” She caught him by the side of the neck and held him fast. “They will need you, to stop her. Not Thor; you.”

“Stop her – stop who? Freya?”

“Freya can tell you, but you must free her first.”

_“Who?”_

“Beloved,” said Harald. Loki turned, and suddenly there was a knife in Harald’s hand, and a fraying rope around Loki’s waist, with the slack in his hand. “Our children are calling you. Hang on.”

In one swift motion, Harald slipped the knife against Loki’s ribs, under the rope tethering Loki to the land of the living. “We love you, my prince. Never forget, we have always loved you.”

“Harald, what – _no!_ ”

“Goodbye, my prince.” And Harald cut the knot free.


	39. Blind and Trusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's return to the land of the living is hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, an interesting look into a writer’s process: this chapter exists solely because I forgot to include a minor but important detail in the last chapter and had to find a way to work it back into the story organically.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

The cutting of the rope severed Loki’s stable but fraying connection to Vanaheim and to the land of the living. Only his hands on the slack kept him from being carried away, as the hall and Harald and Gudrun were hurled back from him, seemingly sucked away by a monstrous howling vortex of wind and fog. A chasm formed beneath his feet and he fell. The rope tightened, slamming him against the sharp side of a crevasse.

His arms snapped and his chest burned as he tried to haul himself back up to the edge – but he couldn’t see it. Panic set in. “Not like this,” Loki muttered, trying to push down the rising terror, even as his mind screamed.

_not like this not like this no no no so cold so dark nothing nothing can’t see can’t hear can’t feel help me kill me find me help me not like this **not like this**_

A cold sweat broke out all over his barely-clothed body, and his hands slipped on the rope. “No, _no_ , damn it!”

The noise was so terrible, he could barely hear his own voice. But as he began to lose his grip, he heard something else: the beating of impossibly huge wings.

_What the... hell?_

“Don’t let go,” said a stern voice, in words that made themselves perfectly clear over the howl. Loki obeyed, clinging to the rope. Strong, sturdy arms took hold of his waist, pulling him close and slinging him over the back of a broad, white, winged horse.

“Keep hold of the rope while we fly,” the rider ordered, while the horse lifted them up to the edge of the cliff. As the line slackened, she pulled it in foot by foot, winding it around Loki’s forearm. “And keep pulling it in, lest you foul my mount’s legs.”

Now Loki recognized her voice: she had been the graceful Valkyrie, at the bridge. _I am in the land of the dead, riding a flying horse, being held by a Valkyrie. If I make it out of here alive, this story is going to buy me so many drinks..._ “How did you find me?”

“Your lovers wished for privacy, but I had orders to protect you. Get down, I can’t see.” She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down flat against the horse’s neck.

“Whose orders?” Loki asked, his voice slightly muffled by the white mane. He took a glancing look down, but saw nothing underneath the winged horse’s hooves except endless swirls of lifeless gray mist. He shuddered and gripped the mane tighter.

“Your mother’s,” she said bluntly. “But I would have, anyway. I owe you a debt, Loki son of Frigga.”

“Son of...”

“I will not say your father’s name. But I am still loyal to Asgard, and to your mother, who was the best of Asgard.”

Loki’s eyes burned with sudden bitterness. “Then she did refuse to see me.”

“No. She is not here to speak with you.”

“But—”

“Oh, she dwells in Valhalla, have no fear of that. And she knew that someday you would seek her out, and so gave me orders to protect you, but she is not there now.”

“Where is she?”

The Valkyrie’s voice turned lofty and a little patronizing. “You left the portal open when you came here, did you not? It is far easier for the dead to cross back, if they know how, than for the living to walk among us.”

“But not impossible for either,” Loki retorted, looping in the slack of the rope. “I know that much. Anodos the Usurper was said to be a draugr, a living corpse.”

“Said to be?”

Loki’s smile was wolfish. “We fought his forces on Ljosalfheim, three centuries ago, but we never saw the creature himself. Odin found his body in the rumble of his fortress and burned it, alone and without the dignity of mourning. And not long after, he came here himself. I know because I watched the ritual.”

“That much is true, yes. Unlike the Allfather, you were clumsy in coming here, but you are not the first would-be king to visit us in life as well as in death,” she told him, “though the others were less desperate and more wise.”

“I have never been accused of being wise,” Loki agreed. “Now, my mother.”

“If we hurry, you will have time with her, before the end.” And she leaned forward, pressing her body against his back to urge the horse to fly faster.

“...Whose end?” he demanded, feeling as small and pinned as an insect under her. “And who are you, that you owe me a debt?” Her wild blonde hair blew over his shoulders and past his eyes, pale and shining. “...You’re her,” he realized, far too belatedly for his own liking, and seeing Brun’s memories again like a punch to the stomach. “You’re Thrud.”

“Yes.” With some difficulty, he turned his head, and saw her smile. “You’ve given my Brunnhilde purpose again.”

“Thor did that,” he said instantly, his stomach flipping at hearing his current lover’s old name on her old love’s lips.

“Thor gave her a reason to fight again. But you, Friggajarson, gave her someone to live for.”

“...She’s going to want to kill me, for this, if she finds out.”

“She already has.”

“Shit.”

Thrud snorted. “I know her. She will not leave you, but... well, you’ll be in no condition to share her bed for some while as it is. That will give you ample time to make amends.”

“So if my mother can wander from Valhalla to the world of the living, and my lovers can cross freely into Niflheim whenever they please, then where does great Odin dwell? Does he quaff mead and sing songs with the great and the good in the golden halls? Or does he wander the barren plains of Niflheim, seeking redemption and peace for all the crimes of his long life? Or is it to the punishments of Nastrond that the Allfather has been condemned? Tell me, for I know my brother will ask, and if I cannot pass on word of our mother, at least give me news of our father.”

But the Valkyrie could not, or would not, answer his question. “That is not for me to tell, my prince. I am sorry.”

She set her horse down outside a strange, forbidding cave, and Loki dismounted nervously. “In there?”

“Yes.”

“What will happen?”

“You will be alive, for the moment.”

“And my mother?”

“You will have answers, if you want them.”

“If I want them? After all this?”

“Yes.” Thrud smiled, but the encouraging expression quickly turned sad. “Some of us have the power and the freedom to walk between worlds, from time to time, but it is not a privilege that falls to me. Will you... give Brunnhilde something for me?”

Loki nodded. Thrud stepped forward and, to his surprise, kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Was that it?”

“No. Well, yes, but not all.”

“And the rest?” Thrud palmed something into his hand, but when he looked, he saw nothing. “Go.”

All the nervousness that he had felt before seeing Harald and Gudrun came flooding back, and he felt himself trembling as he entered the cave. It was dark and cold, and he could see nothing. When he turned back, he saw that Thrud and her winged steed had been swallowed up by the darkness, and for a moment he thought wildly that it had all been a cruel trick, that it was all a lie, that he was back on Sanctuary or lost forever in the depths of the Void.

“Loki... Loki, come find me. Come find me...”

It was an old game from his boyhood days, where his mother would hide in the wild gardens and encourage him to follow her voice, and he responded to the childish urge instinctively. He followed her calls, blind but trusting, his hands outstretched before his face in the darkness, and emerged blinking and wincing into the cave on Vanaheim just as the sun was rising.

He saw his mother standing over his prone, eerily still body, the dragonfang sword glowing as it protruded from his chest. “Mother!” he cried out. He took a step forward, just as Frigga stooped and pulled the sword from his body. A brilliant blue glow exploded from the sword cut, blinding him. Loki felt a hot lash of pain through his chest, and he passed out.

When he woke, he was on the stone floor, on his back in the center of the salt circle, with Frigga sitting beside him, stroking his hair softly. Loki tried to sit up, and when he couldn’t, he simply clung to her hand, crying like a child. “Why weren’t you there? I tried to find you, and... you weren’t there.”

“Little one, if I had stayed, you would have died. Someone had to send word that you were injured, and there was no one else to be trusted. Thor will be here soon, and your children.”

“Why did you keep them from me?” It was the only question that seemed to matter anymore. Everything else – the Koronaugu, his birth mother, Sigyn – at that moment, it was nothing. “Did... did you think I would be a bad father?”

“No, Loki,” Frigga murmured, tears in her eyes.

“Then why?”

“Because of how their mother died, and because... if you had known, you would have demanded they be recognized as your children, as a princess and prince of Asgard, and then they would have been in even more danger."

"In danger from what? From who?” Frigga stroked Loki’s forehead gently, and as he gazed up at her, afraid to look away lest she melt into the haze that clouded his mind, he felt the slow trickle of memories that were not his own, dripping one by one into his consciousness.

“Oh,” he breathed, his eyes going wide, first with shock, and then with dismay. “Oh...”

The last thing he saw before pain and exhaustion overtook him, was his mother bending down to kiss his cheek. He felt her lips, and passed into darkness.

* * *

When he was found, it was in a circle of salt, lying in a wide pool of his own drying blood. The long blade of the dragonfang was placed carefully beside him, and the short blade protruded from where it had been buried deep in the stone floor. The wound on his chest was closed, and clean, leaving only a faint oblong scar there and on the back of his ribcage, which rose and fell with a steady, if shallow, regularity.


	40. Hard Going

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asgard sets out in search of its prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, this insanely short chapter should not have been this fucking hard to write. Apologies to all the people out of my timezone, I know many of you wait for these chapters. Secondly, I am going to drop down to posting five days a week rather than six. I keep crashing on Thursdays, so I’m just gonna make it official.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

The torches between Volkang and the Asgardian encampment were all a-blaze, as the king and his people conferred anxiously with the village headwoman and the Lady of Vanaheim. “And you believe these visions?” Freya asks again. “Of Queen Frigga?”

“I know the touch of my mother’s magic,” Thor said firmly, his black-and-gold eye patch gleaming in the torchlight. “And I was not the only one who saw her.” He gestured to Thialfi. “What did you hear? Tell us again.”

“Not very much. Only ‘Go to Loki. Go now.’ And then there was this dog—”

“Never mind about the dog right now, nephew,” said Thor, still looking at Freya. “Do you know where he may have gone?”

“I?” She gazed back at Thor with steely calm, as regal in her night clothes as she was during the day and clad in her ambassadorial robes. “Your Majesty, I admit that I handled your brother badly, but I certainly did not cause him to vanish into the night.”

“Is that so? When the only horse missing is yours?”

“I assume he took my horse in order to be petty.”

“Why would – actually no, that is precisely something Loki would do.”

“You see? I had nothing to do with it. Unless you are accusing me of kidnapping him.”

“Well, you were certainly plotting to kidnap _someone_...”

“That was never my plan,” Freya snapped, with a sidelong glare at her granddaughter, who was standing very close to Lyka and refusing to meet Freya’s eyes. “Regardless, Prince Loki is missing and it is imperative that we find him, and soon.”

“‘Imperative’?” Lyka repeated, frowning. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. Skanda,” Thor said, turning abruptly to the headwoman, “we have to find my brother before he does something incredibly rash, even for him. We will need horses, and search parties, and—.”

A sudden commotion from the villagers sent them all outside, where they saw a fine dappled gray horse, saddled but without a bridle, ambling out of the forest towards the Volkang stables. “Oh no,” Thor muttered, feeling a cold hand clutch at his heart. “Oh no, that’s not good.” 

Valkyrie, who had been standing guard outside the tent, came up beside him. “He told me once he was a fair hand with horses.”

“He’s one of the best horsemen I’ve ever known. He wouldn’t have sent the mare back unless...”

“Unless he wasn’t planning on coming back himself.” Valkyrie looked up at him, and for a split second, Thor saw terror in her eyes. 

“Horses!” Thor roared. “Now!”

Skanda sent a runner off to the stables to alert the grooms, and started calling out random names of warriors to form a search party. Thor turned to confer with Bruce and Eir about readying the hospital tent for a potentially severely injured prince. Valkyrie stood back, watching and projecting an air of utter unapproachability. 

Inside, she was screaming. _You promised me, Lackey. You **promised** me._

“Find a bridle for my horse,” Freya ordered. “I am going with the search party.”

“Grandmother, are you mad?” Brynja dropped Lyka’s hand and caught Freya’s instead. “Why do—?” 

“Because this is _my_ realm, girl, and I _will_ find Loki. Now go and fetch me some clothes.”

“Let her come,” Thor growled, signalling to Sif to fetch her armor and weapons and find a horse. “And – Thialfi, what the hell is wrong with that dog?”

The tall, scruffy grey wolfhound was circling the group in a very agitated manner, whining and yipping. He kept darting into the woods where Freya’s horse had emerged and running back to nip insistently at Thialfi’s hand. “I’m not sure. It’s been centuries since he was flesh and blood, so I’m not all that certain about his behavioral patterns.”

“Uh...” Bruce nudged Thor’s arm. “I think he wants us to follow him. By the way, kid, where’d you get the dog?”

“It’s... complicated. But I think you might be right.” Thialfi knelt down and wrapped his arms around Garm’s neck to restrain him from running off again. “He wants to go back the way the horse came. I think he can smell Loki’s trail.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Skanda said, “why would the prince have gone up there? There’s nothing up there except a hard-going track through the mountains to the next village.”

“There’s a cave.”

Everyone turned to look at the one who had spoken, and Thialfi blushed at finding himself the center of attention, but he kept his composure admirably, holding Garm by the scruff of the neck and stroking his head soothingly. “Lyka, you remember the cave.”

“I... no? Brother, what are you talking about?”

“When we were children,” Thialfi insisted. “Sigyn woke us up in the middle of the night and rode with us into town. And then we went into an inn, and then suddenly we were in a cave, high up the side of a mountain. I’ve never forgotten the stars, and I never saw them again until we came here.” 

Thor frowned and then grimaced, putting a hand to his face as though his head pained him. “We have to find him, and if my mother is reaching out to us from the other side, then Loki needs our help, _now_.” The king turned to his brother’s son. “Mount up,” he told Thialfi shortly. “Bring what healing supplies you can carry, and bring the dog. Sif, take the rear. Heimdall, keep watch in case he turns up before we get back. Brun—”

“I’ll hold down the fort, your majesty.”

Thor paused for just a moment to grip her shoulder, before joining the search party.

Lyka stood back while her brother mounted the horse he was brought, and squeezed the hand he held out to her. “I’ll bring him back,” Thialfi promised. The other members of the party mounted their own horses, and Brynja came quietly back to Lyka’s side. 

Garm bayed, and the search party thundered off into the night, ghostlight lanterns glowing like enormous, ominous fireflies. 

Lyka glanced at the Valkyrie. “Why did you not go with them? I thought...”

Valkyrie gritted her teeth against an animal cry of pain. She was not going to cry in front of these children, especially not in front of Lyka. _So I don’t have to be the one to find him dead..._ “So I won’t kill him before he gets back.”


	41. Uncovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the panic that Loki's disappearance causes, no one is left unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The behind-the-scenes set-up for this chapter took much longer than I expected, so I'm breaking my own posting schedule to upload this, the rare Sunday chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Sif had always hated taking the rear strategic position, especially when it involved being on horseback. Bad enough that she was guarding other people’s backs instead of leading the attack herself, but at least when she was on foot, she could walk backwards. Being the rearguard while mounted meant that her own back was exposed. And right now, more than her back felt exposed.

She felt... raw. Uncovered. Stripped bare. Only a day or two ago, Thor had asked her to marry him, and now Loki was missing, in poor health and vanished, perhaps to a magic cave with one of the most powerful Asgardian weapons left in existence. Asgard was gone, Loki was missing, Thor was king... and he had asked her to be his wife.

It was excruciating how badly she wanted to say yes, and how much she feared what that answer would mean. And it was humiliating, how scared she was of something she wanted.

At the front of the search party, Thor’s thoughts were jumbled and jagged with worry. He could not lose his brother again, he could not. He _would_ not. He had let Loki fall too many times before, he would not have that death on his head again. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, so loud and so clear he knew his earlier vision of her had been no dream, though it had woken him out of a deep, uncomfortable sleep.

His dreams that night had been far less outlandish than Loki running off to either perform a dangerous magic spell or to commit the most dramatic suicide possible. His subconscious had seen fit to torture him with scenes of Sif, not merely of her refusing his hand in marriage, but rejecting him entirely. Berating him for using her, for ignoring her for so long, for spending so many centuries thinking of her as more pet than woman, and abandoning him because she did not want to be the wife of the king of a fallen kingdom.

And it tore at Thor’s innards that he might lose Sif because of a duty he had wanted so badly once, and loathed so much now, when he might have had her centuries before, if he had simply opened his eyes and allowed himself to love her.

He was shaken from his melancholy thoughts when Thialfi’s horse stumbled slightly over a rock.

“Easy, girl,” the young healer murmured, taking a fresh grip on the reins. It had been a long time since he had been on horseback and he’d never been taken over such rough terrain before. Plus, he was trying to keep track of Garm, who kept running ahead and running back to stare at the party with an expression of obvious annoyance.

“I think he thinks we’re going too slowly,” Thialfi said to Thor.

“Councilor, can we go no faster?”

“Not on this path, my lord, unless you intend to lame all of these horses.”

But all of the riders seemed to need to rein their horses back from going to fast up the rocky, rutted path. Thor and Thialfi, in particular. “It’s like there’s someone’s hand on the bit of the bridle,” Thialfi complained, wincing at the blisters the reins were raising on his hands, “pulling me.”

Thor nodded. “It’s Mother,” he said simply. “She wants us to hurry.”

When they came to the end of the easy track, there was a moment of confusing among the party. Sif rode to the front. “Which way?” she demanded of Freya.

“I’m not sure,” the lady murmured, casting a seeking spell and sending it forth. The small golden ball of seidr energy flew off into the woods, and then immediately came back to her hand. “There is a trail over the mountains to the next village, but it is seldom-used and ill-marked. But as to where else he may have gone to find this cave the boy speaks of...”

She broke off, interrupted by Garm’s furious barking and the sound of crumbling stone.

“Thialfi!” Thor growled. “Calm that damned dog!”

“No,” Freya said, grabbing his arm. “Look! He’s trying to climb the shale.”

Sif slid down from her mount and hurried to examine the earth and stone off the side of the trail. “There are boot prints here!” she shouted.

Freya all but leaped from her horse and ran past Sif, scrambling up the shale that led to the sheer mountainside beyond the trees. She stopped so abruptly, Sif feared she had been struck by something, and then she stumbled back.

“Oh,” she said, pressing a hand to her forehead. “There are... I think he is up there. There are _waves_ of energy cascading down from above the trees. He must be up there.”

“Right,” said Thor, hitting the ground and striding forward. “Sif, you and one of the guards stay here. The rest of us will make the climb.” He hesitated for a moment and then stooped and kissed her briefly. He worried that she might pull away, not wanting to be too demonstrative before others, but instead, she reached up and pressed her hand to the back of his skull. “If the worst should prove true,” he said huskily, “I will need you.”

Sif nodded, eyes too full of emotions he could not name. “I will be here.”

Thialfi whistled shrilly. “Garm! Here, boy!”

The wolfhound darted over to his master, whining and licking his face as though to say, “Come _on_.” And then he stopped and stared in betrayal when Thialfi looped a rope quickly under his forelegs and around his neck. “Sorry, boy,” Thialfi said, feeling very guilty and also very stupid for feeling guilty, “but you must stay here with Lady Sif. Your paws are not fit to climb such a sharp trail.”

He gave the end of the rope to Sif, who tied it firmly to her saddle. “I will take good care of him,” she vowed.

Thialfi pulled the pack of medical supplies from his saddlebag and strapped it to his back. Then he, Thor, and one of the Vanir warriors fell in line behind Freya, and began the long, slow, careful climb up the hillside.

* * *

In the crowd of worried refugees and villagers, no one noticed the two young women slipping away from the encampment and stealing away down to the riverbank, where an elaborate sand castle, complete with river-weed dragons asleep in the moat, slumbered in the fading starlight.

Lyka saw the gently snoring little creatures and took heart. “You see those?” she whispered. “I watched Loki make them just this morning. If they still live, then Loki must still be alive, too.”

Brynja let out a low whistle. “If he’s truly that powerful, then I suppose it explains some of my grandmother’s fixation on him.”

“You don’t know why?”

“No, and I have asked. She wants something of him, I know that much – and please, do not ask me to say what,” Brynja added, with a pleading tone. “You have already charmed enough secrets from me. But her fascination with Prince Loki... that is new.”

They settled down on the sand. Lyka folded her legs demurely and arranged her skirts, while Brynja sprawled freely in boots and leggings. She took Lyka’s hand absently, as she had earlier, and then just as quickly dropped it. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Smile hidden by the pre-dawn darkness, Lyka reached out and very deliberately took Brynja’s hand. The Vanir woman’s breath snagged in her throat. “I... um. You are... very fond of the prince.”

“My brother and I are, yes. Loki and our parents were lovers, centuries ago, and he knew us and adored us when we were babies. Though it’s been a very long time since we have been able to see him, we have always thought of Loki as our second father.”

“Two fathers... I’m jealous,” said Brynja softly. “My father was driven from Vanaheim before I was born, and my mother never took another husband. My aunt is unmarried, and my grandmother has been widowed for centuries. I have my great-uncle and my great-grandfather, but...” She bit her lower lip, and when she spoke again, her voice was bitter. “They’ve been so distant, lately. They even insisted that I come here with Grandmother. To ‘keep her safe’.” Brynja snorted. “As if the Lady of Vanaheim really _needed_ a bodyguard, let alone one who can’t actually do anything to protect her besides glower at people. I think Njord and Freyr simply wanted me to leave. To be out of their sight.”

“Why would they want to do that?”

It was a simple enough question, but for some reason it made Brynja even more nervous. She swallowed once or twice, and then leaned in and whispered rapidly into Lyka’s ear. Lyka’s eyes widened in surprise, but by the time Brynja pulled back, clearly holding her breath, Lyka was smiling.

She cupped Brynja’s face in her hand and drew her forward, so that their lips met in a warm, soft press. “I’m glad you came,” Lyka murmured, stroking Brynja’s cheek.

* * *

From her spot on the rough snake-rail fence at the far entrance to the camp, and with the light from the foxfire lantern at her side, Valkyrie could see the place between the trees where the rescue party had set off from. Presumably, it was also where they would return from, when they returned. It felt like they had already been gone for hours.

She was flipping a dagger with one hand and drinking from a clay jug with the other, when Bruce came with a sandwich and a bottle of water. “A bit early for your breakfast, isn’t it?” Valkyrie asked absently.

“They’re not for me. Here.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You might be functionally immortal but you can still get dehydrated. And you should eat something anyway, it’ll help you drink more.”

She heard the dryness in his voice, and the concern, too, and she didn’t want to deal with either just then, so she took the sandwich and the water. “Has Heimdall seen anything?” she asked, while she ate.

Bruce shook his head. “No word yet.” He watched her guzzle the water, took the empty bottle, and hesitated. “So. You wanna talk?”

She glanced at his worried face and sighed. “Bruce, look... this isn’t something you can help with, okay? You and I, we barely know each other. I know your giant green other half. He’s my friend. I could talk to him.”

“He’s still here, y’know. I mean, I hate to admit it, but he and I, we’re not different people. And maybe I still don’t know much about Asgardians, but I know about angry. And you’ve been carrying a big ball of angry for as long as I’ve known you. So... come on.”

Valkyrie took a long swig from the jug, wishing for the burn of cheap Sakaarian moonshine and getting only sweet, smooth Vanir mead slipping down her throat.

“In all the years since Thrud died, there’ve been two people. Thrud was my... she was mine. And that was a thousand years ago. And since then, I’ve had plenty of lovers. People to screw and then throw out of bed in the morning. There was a woman a few centuries ago... Inge... but I fucked that up pretty badly. So after that, I decided, never again. I had my grand love affair with Thrud, and that was all I was going to get.”

“And then... Loki?”

“I didn’t expect to fall in love with him. I didn’t _want_ to fall in love with him. He’s not a safe person to love. And it’s never a good idea to get in too deep with the boss’s family. Fooling around is one thing, but anything more serious?” She shook her head. “Nope. No thank you.

“But then I _did_ , like a moron. And then he seemed to feel the same! Who’d’ve thought? And when we talked earlier, it sounded like... like he was actually willing to try for something more. But now he’s gone off and done whatever the hell stupid thing he’s done – whether that’s to kill himself or to do something even more desperate – and all I can think—” She broke off suddenly as her throat closed up and her tears spilled over in spite of herself. “All I can think is that he just doesn’t care. He really doesn’t care about what he’s doing to me or to anyone else. He’s just going to do whatever the fuck he wants. And nothing else matters to him.”

Bruce let her cry for a few minutes, saying nothing, but moving an inch or two closer in case she wanted to lean on him. “I’ve learned a few things about Loki,” he said, hesitantly, when she’d had her cry, “both from fighting him and from having to work with him. And one major thing? Is that he doesn’t die easy. Hell, I smashed him into a concrete floor once. Didn’t even break his nose. But the other thing... the other thing is that he cares too damn much.”

“About what?” Valkyrie scoffed, wiping the back of her hand across her face.

“About his people. And I don’t mean all of this. I don’t mean...” Bruce made some waving motions with his hands. “Asgard. I mean _his_ people, y’know? It’s probably why he prefers to do shit alone, to keep his people from getting hurt. Same reason you do.”

“...That doesn’t make it hurt any less, Bruce,” she said softly. “And... I didn’t want him to be better than he is, but... Maybe I wanted him to at least be better than _me_.”

* * *

Miles away, the sun was rising on the party making their slow way up the side of the cliff. Freya was grimacing with each step, hunched over to minimize the impact of the energy she was being battered with as it poured from the cave. Behind her, Thor and Thialfi had their heads bowed, their attention only half on their surroundings as they followed the faint, constant sound of Frigga’s voice, urging them to hurry.

When they reached the cave, Freya and Thor were the first to stumble inside. Thor saw Loki sprawled on his back on the cave floor, half-dressed and very still, lying in a pool of blood with Valkyrie’s sword at his side. “No,” he moaned, “little brother, _no_...”

Thialfi pushed past him, slinging the pack from his shoulder. He hesitated for a second and then scuffed his heel through the line of salt, breaking the circle that surrounded Loki. Freya gasped as though struck and slumped again the cave wall.

He knelt down beside his foster father, fighting back both tears and nausea, and gingerly touched Loki’s bloodstained chest. To his shock, he found that the wound was closed, and Loki’s skin was warm.

“My king,” he breathed, “he is _alive_.”


	42. Floodwaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor gathers up his brother, and Sif gathers up her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention this in the previous chapter's notes, but yesterday was a holiday for me, which is why I didn't post. Sorry! :)
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“This is incredible,” Thialfi muttered, slowly running a hand-sized bio-scanner over Loki’s chest as the dawn light flooded the cave. “It’s... closed. And you said it was open before?”

“It was badly scarred when I saw it,” Thor confirmed. He had shifted Loki’s head into his lap, and was holding his brother’s limp hand and stroking his tangled, dirty hair. “And Valkyrie said it fluctuated in appearance, depending on how tired he was or how much energy he had imbibed... but the wound looks gone. Is... is he healed?”

“I hesitate to go that far,” said Thialfi gently. “At first pass, the wound appears closed at front and back, and the internal damage appears to be mending, but there is still a significant amount of scar tissue and bone calluses that will require Eir’s care. And,” he continued, smoothing Loki’s hair back from his forehead and plying the scanner again, “he’s deeply unconscious, but as to _why_ , I do not know. This is more than sleep, but... less than a coma?” Thialfi looked up at the king with worried blue eyes. “We need to get him back to camp, and quickly.”

“There is another matter,” Freya commented, sounding tense and tired. Thialfi left Thor to cuddle his sleeping brother and went to kneel down before the Lady of Vanaheim. “There is a portal. There.” She nodded at the back of the cave. “It is still open. Not very much – it is barely a tear. Loki must have needed the energy of the portal more than he needed access to wherever that doorway leads.”

Thialfi frowned at the scanner. He was still very new to his chosen profession, and had of necessity been learning the healing arts very much on his feet. Eir and Bruce tended to treat him as a very clumsy orderly who they had to be extremely patient with, rather than as a raw apprentice. Compounding matters was the fact that none of them fully comprehended the Sakaarian medical equipment. There was an infirmary and a surgical suite on the ship, and a laboratory for compounding and synthesizing drugs, but the equipment was so unlike anything Eir or Bruce had ever used – too advanced for Earth and too primitive for Asgard – that they were all still trying, along with the two or three other healers, to figure out how to integrate their materials with their knowledge.

But the small bio-scanner was one of the few pieces of equipment that Eir had managed to snatch from the palace before the end. And though Thialfi’s own seidr was still firmly locked away, the little device could sense what he could not. “You’re not well, Councilor,” he said, closing the scanner and eyeing her critically. “The power in this place seems to be having an adverse effect on you.”

“Oh yes...” She struggled to her feet, ignoring Thialfi’s outstretched hand offering assistance. “I’ve felt it before...”

Thor looked up at her as she stepped stiffly towards the back of the cave. “Is it a danger to us?” he asked quietly.

“The young healer says he remembers leaving Asgard and coming here as a child. If the portal originated in Asgard, then the other end of this portal is hanging loose. Anything could come through.”

“Can you collapse it?”

In response, Freya stretched out a hand, closed her eyes, and concentrated. Behind her, Thialfi and the Vanir guard hovered nearby in anticipation, although of _what_ , neither of them could say.

Thor gently pulled Loki’s unprotesting form up into his arms, hugging him protectively against his chest. He could feel the wisps and tendrils of seidr energy creeping and dripping from the invisible tear in the wave of space-time, but he knew that what he sensed was nothing compared to what trained seidr masters like Loki and Freya could see and feel. Climbing the cliff side had been difficult for all of them, and Freya had reacted as though she was fighting against floodwaters the whole way.

“Oh, little brother,” he murmured gruffly, resting his cheek on Loki’s hair and giving way to a few tired, frightened tears. “Getting up here must have been hell for you... I hope it was worth it.”

As he rocked his brother, Thor thought he felt a maternal kiss, warm and reassuring, being pressed to his bristly shorn hair.

There was a sudden hot rush of air, and Freya let out a low moan and crumpled. She would have hit the floor but for the attentiveness of the guard and Thialfi, who pulled her away towards the entrance and light and fresh air. Thor laid Loki down carefully and moved across to where they had propped Freya up against the wall again. “Were you able to collapse it?” he asked, offering her water.

“I’ve done what I could,” she said, accepting the flask and gulping down the contents, “but I was only able to reseal it for the time-being. I do not know how long that seal will last. It is unlike any portal I have ever encountered.”

Over her head, Thor and Thialfi exchanged a frown. Thialfi mouthed, “Didn’t she just...?” Thor nodded, and then made a brief motion for him to be silent.

“If that’s the most we can do for now, then it will have to suffice. At least it’s closed. We—” He broke off abruptly and reached out to steady Freya’s shoulder as she swayed.

“We need to go,” Thialfi repeated, with a note of command that took Thor mildly by surprise. “Before we have to find a way to carry both the prince _and_ the councilor back down the cliff face.”

* * *

Sif had expected to have more trouble with the dog, but once Thialfi and the others were out of sight, Garm ceased his offended whining and barking and reluctantly laid down beside Sif’s tethered horse with his head on his paws. She thought he might go to sleep, but he seemed too tense.

She knew the feeling.

Part of her wanted to follow Thor, to be at his side should the worst prove true... while a smaller part of her shied away from the possibility of seeing him finding his brother's corpse, and mourning him. Again.

Strange, that the fact that he had ordered her to stay behind was the least of her concerns, in that moment.

She hardly knew what to feel anymore. Regardless of whether Loki was alive or dead, Thor would not hear a word spoken against him when they returned, she knew that much. He had been ill-tempered and withdrawn for weeks after Loki’s fall from the Bifrost, and then seeing him die on Svartalfheim, so soon after losing the Allmother, had driven Thor from Asgard entirely.

Had her sworn duty not been to the throne, Sif would have gone with him to Earth. Not to win him from his mortal, but simply to get away. Away from the memories, away from shattered hopes and dreams and plans for the future that had come to nothing. Away from the guilt, that she had failed to save Frigga, that her final words to Loki had been a threat, that Odin was weak and failing in spirit and there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

Now it was all gone, all of it, and no amount of guilt or sworn duty would bring any of it back. At least this time, if Loki was truly dead, she could take comfort in the fact that her last words to him had been words of friendship.

She paced the width of the track, to the shale run in the trees, then back to her horse, half a dozen times before she realized what she was doing and gave up. She pulled her sword from its sheath and her whetstone from her belt pouch and dropped to a crouch beside the dog. She had been neglecting her weapon over the last few weeks. All her old trainers were surely shaking their heads at her negligence, over their mead in Valhalla. All but Sigyn, who had been her first teacher, and whom Loki swore was still alive.

_You had better be right, or else your silver tongue will not avail you when you approach the bridge to the golden halls and your wife comes to meet you after you’ve undoubtedly done something incredibly stupid._

Try as she might, though, Sif could not keep her mind on her blade. The motions were second-nature and her thoughts were free to wander in directions she did not wish to go at that moment. To Thor... always to Thor. He had asked her to marry him... No, not so. He had asked her _to consider_ marrying him. And Sif had considered it, wistfully, for centuries. In the past, it had been mere fantasy, a pleasant castle in the air that would never come to pass, so she felt no guilt in daydreaming about it. All the attendant responsibilities and cares of a prince's wife – of a king’s wife – had never mattered before, because there had never been the slightest chance that she would ever have to cope with those responsibilities and cares.

But now there was a chance. A chance that she could be queen of Asgard... of what remained of Asgard, and the wife of a king who had never wanted the throne. Who had never wanted _her_ until quite recently. Thor had never wanted the throne, or her. It had been Odin’s desire that he should have both. But Thor wanted her now, not because she would make a good queen but simply because she was familiar, because she was a reminder of the way things had been... Because he loved her, and trusted her, and wanted to keep her close.

And Sif was still desperately uncertain of what to do with such feelings. The last man she had loved enough to consider wedding had fallen under the sway of the sorceress Lorelei, and forsaken not only Sif, but his family and friends as well, to follow her lead. Haldor had not survived the war that Asgard had waged, to bring Lorelei to justice, and after his death, she had simply given up looking for a partner. She could have a man in her bed whenever she chose, and did, and as long as Thor was uninterested, that was all she desired from men.

And now he was interested.

 _You are thinking in circles,_ she told herself firmly. _The past is the past. Moreover, the past is dead. What happened six hundred years ago is nothing. What happened six years ago is nothing. What is happening **now** , focus on that. The king... no. Thor. Thor wishes you marry you. If all things were equal... which they are not... what would you say? What would you say?_

Sif drew in a shaking breath, and bent to her sharpening.

The sun was up and the foxfire lanterns doused well before Garm’s ears pricked up and he stood, his tall lean body a-quiver with anticipation. Sif’s eyes narrowed, watching him. She had never been the sort of person who treated animals on the same level as people, but she had spent her life among horses and hawks and hounds. She knew how to read their body language and she respected their senses and instincts. She did not speak to the dog, but she was alert to whatever he was hearing.

Then Garm let out a loud bay and began scrambling and pulling at the rope that tied him to her horse. “Fool dog,” Sif muttered, standing up. Then she heard the clattering sound of falling shale, and of feet making their way down the slippery cliff side trail.

Suddenly her heart was in her throat. “They’re coming,” she snapped to the guard, and sheathed her sword. “Get ready.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “For what?”

She swallowed. “For the worst.”

Those minutes before the rescue party appeared through the trees felt like the longest of her life, and when she saw Thor, and Loki’s apparently lifeless body strapped piggyback across his shoulders, for a moment, it was as though all the color drained out of her world. Then Thialfi came skipping and sliding down the trail ahead of him. “Is he—?”

“He lives, Lady Sif.” His young face was tired and filthy, but he smiled. “He lives.”

Sif’s eyes fell closed briefly in relief, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whomever might be listening. Then she went to go help Thor with his burden.

“Has he woken?” she asked, bracing Loki while Thor untied him from around his waist and chest.

“Not once. Thialfi thinks he is out of danger, but he needs Eir’s attention. There’s no time to waste.” Together, they maneuvered Loki onto the grass at the track side. He was barefoot and naked to the waist and covered in dried blood, but his great wound was closed and he was breathing. Sif turned to say something to Thor and was met instead by him pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her, and burying his face in the side of her neck.

He was crying.

“Hush, my lord,” Sif heard herself saying soothingly, running her fingers gently through his short hair. Her voice sounded very distant, but her heart was entirely present and grounded in the moment. “All will be well, Thor.”

He nodded, mutely, like a child, but clung to her for another minute until he had calmed. When he pulled back, Sif framed his face in her hands and kissed his tear-damp lips softly. “All will be well.”


	43. Common Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brun stays away, and Sif makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder: tomorrow, Thursday, is my newly-scheduled day off from posting. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

One of the guards held Thor’s horse steady, while he and Sif hoisted Loki onto the horse's shoulders, laying him chest down on the animal’s neck. Then Thor climbed into the saddle and pulled Loki up. Sif handed him up a spare blanket and they draped it over Loki like a cloak, wrapping him in the thick cloth. Then she passed up a stout rope, so that they could lash Loki upright, with his back against Thor’s chest.

“Will you be able to control your horse?” she asked, examining their handiwork critically.

Thor had one arm curled around Loki, crossed diagonally up under his armpit to keep his head steady. “One hand on the reins is all I need,” Thor said. “I’ll not have him slung behind my saddle like a prisoner of war. And I’m not letting him go again,” he added gruffly.

She watched him cradle Loki’s head against his cheek, and nodded.

* * *

Life had to go on, Brun reminded herself, regardless of what stupid shit Loki might or might not have done to get himself killed. There were still refugees to tend to and camp business to keep in order, and since there was no point in going back to bed with dawn right around the corner (and since she didn’t feel it was wise for her to go into the training ring while she was in A Mood), she grabbed Heimdall and determinedly concentrated on administrative matters.

Shortly after sunrise, and in the middle of a conversation about water treatment, Heimdall suddenly straightened and walked to the door of the king’s pavilion, which even in Thor’s absence was used as a sort of makeshift council chamber. He leaned on the tent frame and peered intently at, at far as Brun could tell, nothing.

She braced herself. “What is it?”

“They’ve found him,” said Heimdall. He turned to smile slightly at her over his shoulder. “He’s alive.”

“He’s...” Brun folded her hands over the back of a chair. “Good, good, that’s... good. Are we done here?”

Heimdall nodded and she _went_ , striding out of the pavilion and turning sharply to go into her own tent. And as soon as she was inside, Brun fell to the floor, gritting her teeth against the great wracking sobs that threatened to tear her in half.

_He’s alive... son of a **bitch** , he’s **alive**..._

Eventually she stopped trying, and simply wept, crying until she was a weary ball curled up on the carpet, snot and tears staining her face.

She had been so prepared for the rescue party to return with a body, that she hadn’t bothered preparing for what would happen if he came back _alive_. Was he injured? Sick? Had he left of his own free will? What had he been trying to accomplish? What had the little shit even been _thinking_?

But he was alive. Brun pushed herself into a sitting position, then into a standing position. She grabbed a towel, wet it at the wash stand, and scrubbed her face clean. “Bastard better not have damaged my sword,” she muttered aloud, all the while hoping in her heart that it had helped him to come home safely.

She returned to the pavilion and apologized curtly to Heimdall, who looked at her for a moment with golden eyes that saw far, far too much. “Brunnhilde.”

“Don’t call me that,” she almost snapped. But that reminded her too much of what had happened the one and only time Loki had called her by her full name, and what had happened after, and... “I guess you’ve got the right to call me by that name,” she said, her jaw muscles tight. “You’ve known me long enough.”

“Too bloody long,” he agreed. “And you’ve been gone a long time, but there are some things that don’t change about a person.” His smile was infinitely gentle. “When you fall... you fall hard. You always did.”

She winced at his choice of words, but... he wasn’t wrong. “The last time I fell, I climbed up into a liquor bottle. I can’t do that this time. People are counting on me and... damn it. What do I do?”

Heimdall could only spread his hands in a rueful gesture. “Drink water.”

How serious he was, Brun didn’t have a chance to find out, because a huge commotion broke out among the breakfasting refugees. “You didn’t say they were back,” she snarled, and turned and stalked out.

She felt him roll his eyes behind her, and it hit her like a punch in the back.

A crowd materialized almost out of thin air, and Brun had to restrain herself from simply tossing people out of her way to get to the front. She could see Thor’s back and the arse end of his mare, but no sign of Loki... And then the horse turned and she caught in her breath.

He was unconscious, his hair hanging dirty and tangled against his neck, and he was wrapped in a blanket to protect him from the ropes strapping him upright to Thor’s chest. His face was paler than Brun had ever seen. Only Thor’s hand, curled gently around the front of his throat, kept his head from lolling forward. The shaggy gray dog, the one that had come seemingly out of nowhere the night before, trotted steadily at the side of Thor’s horse, keeping his shoulder at Loki’s foot.

She wanted to go to him, to take his long, limp body in her arms and bend over him like a shield, and hide him away some place where she could tend him and berate him at the same time. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to murder him.

But she felt frozen in place, and could only watch in stunned silence while Sif and Heimdall cut him free and carried him to the hospital tent, the dog following close at their heels. Thor spied her as he slumped down from the saddle, and beckoned to her. She snapped out of her mute thoughts and went to him. Apparently the command of her king was enough to get her arse into gear. _The more things change,_ she thought grimly. “Your Majesty. You look like hell.”

“Oh, I feel like hell,” Thor agreed tiredly. He rested his forehead against the mare’s sweating shoulder for a second, then gestured to the saddlebag. “We brought back your sword. Oh, and Loki.”

“Yeah, I noticed him.” Brun pulled the sword from the pack and unsheathed it. The normal soft blue glow was dim. “He’s almost completely drained it,” she murmured, ignoring the bystanders who suddenly fell silent at the sight of the dragonfang. She split the blades to examine them separately. “Both of them. What the hell was he doing up there?”

“Something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Possibly both. He does stuff like that a lot. Well, he used to.” Brun’s derisive snort was loud enough to startle the horse. Thor waved forward the groom who was hovering patiently nearby to take the animal and brush her down. “Will you come with me to the hospital tent?” Thor asked. “If he wakes, he will be grateful to see you.”

“...No thanks.” And she couldn’t meet his eye.

“All right,” said Thor, after a moment. He gripped her shoulder, one warrior to another. “If he does wake, shall I bring him your... good wishes?”

“Yeah, that’ll do. Sure.”

“Valkyrie, he lo—”

The last thing she needed right now was to hear how much he thought Loki loved her. She slapped his hand off, and walked away quickly, before he could see how badly she wanted to go with him.

* * *

Heimdall was in the tent, observing the proceedings with Garm sitting at attention beside him, when Thor arrived. “Sif went to bathe,” he informed the king, “as she could be of no further use here.”

Thor nodded absently and sent Heimdall about his own business without speaking. He was too busy watching Eir and Bruce and another healer whose name he did not know tend to Loki. They had stripped him of the remainder of his clothes and were carefully sponging him clean. At the same time, Eir was using something wand-like that Thor did not recognize to scan Loki’s body. Thialfi brought them towels and a long clean tunic to clothe Loki in. And throughout all of it, just as throughout the climb down the mountain and the long ride home, Loki never once woke.

“He’s stable,” the apprentice assured Thor. “But beyond that, we will have to wait until Eir can examine his readings.” He smiled crookedly. “She has been quietly cursing and wishing for a soul-forge for the last twenty minutes.”

“No doubt... how can he sleep through all of this? It is only sleep, isn’t it?”

“As I said in the cave, it is something more than sleep. The bio-scanner picked up seidr readings, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of them. I’m sorry.” Thialfi hesitated. “Your majesty, you didn’t happen to see my sister anywhere, did you? It’s just... I expected her to come running, when we arrived back.”

“No, lad, I didn’t,” said Thor, after a moment’s thought. “But then, I didn’t see Freya’s granddaughter, either, and I fully expected her to be there to help the councilor.”

“Ah,” was all Thialfi said in reply, and Thor didn’t think to ask what he meant.

When the healers were finished, Thor sent a few people off to bring Loki’s four-poster bed from his tent, so he would be more comfortable than in one of the too-short hospital cots. The healers looked annoyed looks at one another that said ‘He’s the king, what else can we do?’ but otherwise kept their mouths shut and moved furnishings and equipment as needed.

When Loki had been transferred to the grand, green-draped bed (and Garm had taken up what he clearly considered a position of honor _underneath_ the bed), the senior healers checked his vitals again and retired to the main tent to discuss what to do next, leaving Thialfi and Thor alone with the unconscious prince. Thor looked at the apprentice for a moment, then at Loki... and then sat down on the edge of his brother’s bed. Thialfi turned to the sideboard to offer him what refreshment he could, after the difficult night and morning they had all had, but when he turned back, Thor had laid down beside Loki and was cuddled up close against his side, with his back to the world.

“Um... sire?”

“I know, I know it’s foolish, but I...” There was a gruffness to the king’s voice that made Thialfi feel like an intruder upon such a private moment. “When we were... very small boys,” Thor murmured, his voice husky with unshed tears, “Loki was not a sound sleeper. Especially when he was an infant. We shared a bedroom at that age, to make it easier for Mother, and every night, he would wake me up with snuffling and crying. Mother said he was troubled by nightmares. And I remember thinking... how _sad_ that was, that my tiny, perfect, happy baby brother should have his sleep so tormented.” He glanced up at Thialfi with a surprisingly self-conscious smile. “I was a very sentimental toddler.

“One night, Mother didn’t come when he cried. I learned later that there was a late council meeting that required her presence, but at the time, it seemed like both Loki and I had been left alone in the family wing. Like we had been left utterly alone in the world.

“He wouldn’t stop crying. So I went to his cradle, and picked him up and brought him back to my bed, and I just held him against my chest, so he would know he was not alone. And it seemed to help. He stopped crying, at least. And we both slept.” Thor passed a hand over his brother’s sternum, where the ugly, jagged wound had been.

Thialfi hesitated, and then touched Thor’s shoulder. “My sister used to do the same for me,” he said, gentling his voice. “He is safe now, my king... Uncle. We will look after him. Now you should rest as well.”

Thor sighed and sat up. “I don’t see how I can,” he muttered. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Falling from the Bifrost or dead on Svartalfheim. And now this... the surest I’ve felt of Loki in years was when he was physically tied to my chest.”

“I don’t think that’s a sustainable plan,” said Thialfi mildly. “For either of you.” Thor snorted and took the wine Thialfi offered him. “Drink that and go get some sleep, sire. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re spending too much time with Bruce.” But Thor did as he was told, drinking off the wine and rising to take his leave. “Thank you, nephew. I know Loki will be in good hands with all of the healers, but I am most glad that he has you to look after him.”

Thialfi ducked his head, smiling. “Oh, Thor?” he said, when Thor was halfway out of the tent. “You lived on Earth for a time, you understand human ways, yes?”

“Well, somewhat...”

“What does ‘zen’ mean? Bruce keeps saying that I’m very ‘zen’.”

For the first time all day, Thor smiled. “It means it’s good for him to be around you.”

* * *

He found Sif in his tent, clean and half-dressed, her hair still piled up on her head, sitting at the center table with her head down on her folded arms. For a moment, Thor thought she might have been sleeping, and considered simply picking her up and moving her to the bed, but she looked up as she entered.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.

“Tears for Loki?” Thor smiled. “You hardly need weep for him now...” Realization hit his tired brain like one of his own thunderbolts. “You still love him,” he murmured.

Sif stared at him dumbly for a second or two, and then let out a wry huff of a laugh. “No, Thor, I do not. You needn’t worry. And even if I did, it’s not a relationship I wish to rekindle.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he retorted, feeling slightly off-kilter.

“Thor, I—”

He met her eyes calmly, and brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek. “I only wish to understand,” he promised. “There were times, in the past, when I thought you still desired him.”

“There were. But as we matured, we grew apart...” Her impatience faded, and she took a moment to consider her words. “Then I was with Haldor, and then he married Sigyn, and though she might not have minded sharing her man, I am not so generous. I would be his lover, but never his mistress.”

“And after Sigyn left?”

Sif opened her mouth to respond, then hesitated. “My feelings during that time were... not to my credit. There has never been true love between Loki and me. Not of the kind to make a marriage, or even to last. I think Brun loves him far more deeply, as a wife to a husband, than I ever could have. They are of a piece. They fit together. Loki and I were never easy with one another. There was the friendship of warriors, but never... tenderness, not once we were grown. We were always too roughly fashioned to ever cleave to one another comfortably.”

“But you kept trying,” Thor pressed, his voice a low rumble in the warm, dimly lit tent. “Why?”

She leveled a look at him. “Do not sound so dismayed,” she teased him. “Admit it: you didn’t even notice me until a few weeks ago.”

“That is _not_ true,” Thor retorted with a grin, though he felt a small sharp sting at his heart that spoke somewhat otherwise. “There were many times throughout the centuries where I thought of you as more than simply a comrade-in-arms.”

“Really? Astonish me. Name one.”

“Three hundred years ago,” he replied promptly. “On Ljosalfheim, the night before the first attack on Anodos’s stronghold.” Even after three centuries, the mere mention of that battle still made Sif flinch. “I even remember hearing your footsteps as you approached my tent, and I thought...” Thor shrugged. “But you went to Loki.”

“I didn’t lie with him that night,” said Sif, after an awkward moment. “I wanted only to wish him luck. The campaign had not gone in our favor, up to that point, and... well, we all thought it was a suicide mission and the Allfather mad to let him try. But he was so eager to go.”

“I remember. Father did not often entrust Loki with missions of such import. But we needed to get a scouting party through. So you went to wish him well. And yet only a day ago you offered—”

“I know what I offered,” Sif said tightly. “I went to him then because I thought I might never see him again. We all feared he would die on that mission, Thor, even Odin, and the idea of losing him... it frightened me. As it would have had your place and his been switched. We grew up together, you and me and Loki and Fandral, and knowing that night that he truly might never come back... It rent my heart. Now I have known Loki to die twice. I wanted to prevent a third time, if I could. He is my prince, and my friend, and your brother. I am not in love with him, Thor. But the feeling of love is still there... no matter what I do. He has always been very good at that.”

“I know it,” said Thor, with some feeling. He lowered himself slowly into a chair, groaning with exhaustion. “Once Loki is inside someone’s heart, it’s impossible to let him go.”

“Perhaps that is why he keeps coming back, whenever it seems he has finally met his end. We all keep holding out hope that someday, he will be better than what he was. That things will be all right again.” She stood up with an air of determination, looking at Thor intently. “And that is why Loki and I did not work. He will never be better than what he is... because he did not need to be better. To be more, yes. To do better things. But he never needed to _be_ better. He simply is what he is, and he expects no more and no less from the people he gives his heart to. And that was not enough for me.”

“And am I enough for you, hmm?” Thor reached out and took Sif’s hand, tugging her into his lap. “Or will you forsake my company to return to the dubious safety of the Vanir capital?”

“I would choose certain death over that dubious safety, and also, I do not think this chair will hold us both,” she teased, but his mouth pressed against hers and silenced her, and for a time Sif was content in his arms, with his lips moving softly and his hand cradling her face. “You make me feel... safe,” she admitted, closing her eyes. “For so long, I thought it was weakness to want to be protected. To enjoy such feelings.”

“Never a weakness, my lady,” he murmured. “There is strength to be found in knowing when to accept help... though it took me far too long to realize it.” His fingers traced the still-damp tracks of tears on her face. “Will you tell me why you were crying?”

“It was not with grief. It was... oh, damn.” Sif pushed back with a sigh. “It was too many things at once, and too much worry and too little sleep. It’s so hard to feel as though I’m thinking clearly, and I need to be clear-headed.”

Thor smiled and caressed her bare arms lightly. “You always were the most clear-headed of all of us. Always the paragon of common sense.”

Sif looked at him so keenly that he felt cut straight to the marrow. “But what is common sense,” she said slowly, eyes never leaving his face, “without wisdom to walk beside her?”

“Sif...”

“The two must walk hand-in-hand, after all.”

Thor’s hands slid up her arms to cradle her face. “Sif, speak plainly. I have asked you to consider marriage with me. Does this... do you...?”

“I have considered. And I accept.”

He gazed up at her in wonder, tired and amazed and in awe, and for the rest of his life, Thor knew that he would never be able to look at her in any other way.

“Come riding with me, my lord,” she said, and something about the proud way her lips formed the words ‘my lord’ made Thor’s usual protest at the title die in his throat. “You are carrying the worries of the entire world, and you’ve had precious little relaxation, of late.” Sif kissed the corner of his mouth, whispering against his lips, “Come for a ride with me.”

“Gladly,” he murmured, eye and mind and heart full of her. “Gladly.”


	44. Legends and Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A comatose Loki gets another chance to speak with his mother, while Brun and Heimdall talk of old times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki’s eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, everything was still and peaceful. He felt no pain, only the pleasant well-rested sensation of having slept long and soft in his own bed.

Then he frowned. He was in his bedroom in the palace on Asgard... which no longer existed.

“You’re not dead,” he heard a familiar voice say.

Loki sat up in his bed slowly, studying his companion for a moment or two. “Then where am I, Mother, if you are here?”

Frigga smiled and bent over his bed to stroke his hair. Her fingers felt warm and familiar and alive, and he couldn’t help himself: he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean it. What I said, I didn’t—”

“Hush,” she chided, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I know, my son.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. Her blue eyes were calm, and full of the same love and fondness and slightly exasperated amusement that he had always seen. “As to where you are... you’re home.”

“Asgard is gone.”

“I didn’t say Asgard, I said you were home. Your mind created this place so that we could speak, but in the waking world, you’re safe in the camp with your family, who are doing their best to help you heal from the wounds you’ve inflicted on yourself.”

Loki felt the hot creep of a blush traveling across his cheeks. “You think I did a foolish thing.”

“You have done a host of foolish things recently, my child.” Frigga reached out and tugged an unruly lock of his springy black hair. “But as this foolish thing has allowed me to see you again, I can’t be too angry. Especially as it isn’t permanent,” she added gently.

“...Ah.” He blinked back tears and seized her hand between both of his. “Then I should... make the most of this... whatever this is. This coma.”

Frigga nodded. “You went to Niflheim to ask me questions. I’m sorry I was not there to greet you, but I had to make sure you would survive the attempt. So... ask me now.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” she promised. “I can no longer lie to you, Loki.”

“But you can withhold information. You can’t lie but you can choose not to answer. Especially if I don’t ask the right questions.”

“Those are the laws of Niflheim. But I am not there right now.”

Loki’s eyes darted over her face, his mind racing. She had told him already all about Gudrun’s children, but there was so much more, and he could ask anything... about his birthmother, if Frigga had spied on the Jotnar and brought that information back to Odin, if she had helped with the conquest of the Nine Realms...

“What does it matter?” he heard himself saying. “What does any of it matter? It all comes back to Odin. All my life, all I wanted was Odin’s respect and love. And what do I find? That I wasted my life. That it was all a lie. Even at the very end, he lied to me. Called me his son, told me he loved me... but none of it was real. Even the so-called ‘truth’ he gave me ended up being a lie. Not a cast-off runt taken in by a shining conquering hero, but an acknowledged son and heir, stolen away. I was only ever a pawn to be used to him. Never a son to be loved.”

“Odin’s love for you, my son, as deeply flawed as it was, was real. It is simply the revelations about his past that make you recoil from it. By rights, you should reject my love as well, and for the same reasons.”

“No,” said Loki quickly. “You’re not... you weren’t like him. You’re _not_ like him. You... I never doubted you. Not even in my darkest moments. You never gave me reason to. But Odin...” He smiled sourly, feeling bile rise in his throat. “So... what? Even monsters can love, when it suits them?”

“A capacity to love one’s own child doesn’t prevent a person from doing harm to other people’s children,” said Frigga quietly. “That is not love. That is an ability to empathize with others, to feel another’s pain. It was not a quality your father ever possessed.”

Loki couldn’t help himself. “Which one?”

“Either one.”

* * *

Brun looked up from morosely cleaning her sword. There was someone standing in the doorway of her tent, blocking the light. “Unless someone’s attacking the camp, I don’t want to hear it."

“You’d rather sit in here being depressed and polishing your sword?”

“It’s not like anyone else’s sword’s in the offing.”

“The sun’s well up, and it’s no good for you to be alone with your thoughts right now.” Heimdall held up a sack and a jug. “Bread and beer. Come break your fast with me.”

“I thought you told me to drink water.”

“Well, not for breakfast.”

They went out and sat by the royal encampment’s eastern gate, overlooking the village, and talked shop for a while. The rationing system was working well so far, and the hunting and fishing parties were having very good luck. The weather had worked in their favor – it had been consistently warm and pleasant, with only light rains in the evenings (minus the one thunderstorm, courtesy of Thor), and never when they had fish drying on the riverbank.

The training of the youths among the refugees was also going well, although Heimdall felt that they could streamline the process. “I’ve got the lads, and you and Sif have the young women, so why don’t we combine the classes?”

“I’m not sure if I want to subject my girls to that,” Brun said, between mouthfuls. “And no offense, old friend, but they’d run circles around your lads.”

“Probably,” he agreed with a grin. “But that’ll be good for them. We won’t have the luxury of space to keep their training separate once we’re back on the ship, and the boys would benefit from being trained by and with the young maidens. If it was good enough for Loki – I mean, for me,” Heimdall corrected, “surely it’s good enough for the sons of innkeepers and stonemasons.”

Brun had to laugh at that. “Yeah, but you didn’t have much of a choice. Nine moms, all Valkyries and all terrifying. I should know, they all taught me!”

“You and Thrud and the rest,” Heimdall agreed. “They were good at what they did.”

The wistfulness in his deep voice struck something long-buried in Brun’s heart. Heimdall had been born of a Valkyrie and raised by them, the only son of a Valkyrie that any of them could recall. And when they fell... “I’m sorry, Heimdall,” she said, awkwardly, gripping his shoulder. “I was by myself so long, I... I forgot that I wasn’t the only one who lost family that day.”

“Mothers, aunts, cousins, sisters... the woman I’d hoped the marry...” He sighed and drank the rest of his beer, and reached for the jug. “What’s Ragnarok, compared to that?”

“No wonder all of this hasn’t really fazed you.”

Heimdall’s smile was weary. “Wasn’t the first time I lost everyone and everything. Probably won’t be the last.”

“I thought you couldn’t see the future.”

“I can’t. But I know patterns when I see them.” He emptied the jug, peered inside, shook the last few drops into his cup, and then reached for a second jug that Brun had not noticed. “And when I don’t see them. Thor as king... a few years ago, you would’ve said he was young Odin reborn. Careless, thoughtless, heedless and cruel. No one else saw it but Loki and me, and who would believe Loki?”

“And it wasn’t your place to criticize, I know.” Brun tore her bread into small pieces, rubbing the crumbs between her fingertips. “Must’ve been a hell of a few years, even before Odin’s death.”

“Well, that’s certainly true...”

“Honestly, I’m still shocked at how much everything changed, after... after The Fall. After Hela’s banishment. I never imagined Odin would give up his love of conquest, or that our reputation and legend would be used to discourage women from becoming warriors, or that—” Her throat closed up for a few seconds. “Or that we’d be forgotten. The real us. All swept away by legends laid over silence. No one left seems to remember Hela or how the Valkyries fell, only that we ‘all died gruesome deaths’,” she said bitterly, taking Loki’s half-awed, half-snide taught and letting it wither in the sunlight. “Not even the princes knew they had a sister. Which I suppose I can see Odin doing – family skeletons and all that, but... the whole planet? All nine realms? Everyone?”

“It was what the Allfather wanted.”

“...So I’m guessing no one remembers Odin’s first wife, either.”

Heimdall shook his head. Brun snorted and held out her cup for more beer.

As she drank, she saw a very tired Bruce coming up the hill, looking around but clearly not seeing anything. Brun waved an arm at him and saw him wake up a bit. “Hey, I was looking for you – well, actually, I’m looking for Thor. The medical team needs to talk to him. Thialfi says he told him to knock off and take a nap.”

Brun raised an eyebrow, impressed that the young healer would have the spine to order the king around. _Then again, he’s still Loki's son. Somehow. Probably doesn’t lack for audacity._

“But he’s not in his tent,” Bruce continued, flopping down on the grass. “A couple people said they saw him ride off with Sif, but didn’t they just get back from a long ride?”

“Maybe they went off for a different kind of ride,” Brun suggested dryly.

“...Already? I mean... they just got back...”

“They have gone off together,” Heimdall confirmed, hiding a small, knowing grin in his cup.

“Any chance you could get a hold of him quick, the way you did with Sif? We really need to talk to him.”

“Unfortunately not. I can see all things naturally, but when it comes to speaking, that ease of communication was lost with the Bifrost. If I had a power source, someone to share their energies with me, I could do so, but without it...” He spread his hands in apology.

“Sorry, old man,” Brun said, giving him a friendly punch on the arm. “My sword would normally have enough power to give you a boost, but it’s almost entirely drained, which Loki and I are gonna have words about, when he wakes up.”

“Yeah, about that,” Bruce said, looking very uneasy. “So, we’ve checked Loki over. I guess this is really the first thorough exam he’s had since the original injury? And Eir found that all of the – Kurse? – anyway, the poison that must have been there, it’s all basically been seared out of him, from the inside out. And we’re kinda wondering if maybe Loki... well, was there blood on the blade when Thor gave it back to you?”

An expression of pure murder passed over Brun’s face. She vaulted to her feet and stormed off to the hospital tent without another word. 

Heimdall looked vaguely nervous. “Maybe I should go after her...”

“Nah, it’s okay, she won’t be able to hurt him. Thialfi’ll talk her down. Say, is there more beer?”


	45. Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brun and Thialfi have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout-out to [Meldanya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya) for some very welcome little moments in this chapter. See you Monday. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki leaned upon the broad white window sill and looked out over the city. Asgard shone in the mid-morning sunshine, almost too bright for words. “This is how I always see it, in my thoughts,” he said, more to himself than to Frigga. “Bright and golden and clean... unlike me. I was never meant for the sunlight. Frost Giants do tend to thrive in shadows, according to all those books you sent me.”

“So you did read them.”

“I was in that cage for nearly a year, I had to do something.”

“And after?" Frigga prompted. "When you were finally king?”

He snorted softly. “When I was finally king, I had to _be_ king. It left little time for brooding over my origins.” He cast a last lingering glance at the city of his youth and turned away. It was nothing now. More shadow than he was. “I never met your successor.”

Frigga knew who he meant at once. “My closeness to Odin meant that the Koronaugu’s work over a thousand years was sorely compromised. I instructed my successor to remain away from court, and to communicate with the king only by distant means.”

“It worked well enough, though if I’d known, I think I would have been jealous that you had someone you thought more suited to the task than me.”

“It was supposed to be you. I had intended to train you for the task.”

“Ah, let me guess: Odin objected.”

“No, Loki. You objected.” She smiled sadly at his perplexed look. “You always worked best in the shadows, but you could not resign yourself to them, so I stopped trying to teach you. You wanted to be Thor, never yourself.”

“I wanted to be his equal,” Loki retorted sharply. “I _should_ have been his equal. I am the legitimate firstborn of a king, the same as him. Although,” he snorted, “he is no longer one of those things, so I finally have something of an advantage over him.”

Something in Frigga’s expression changed.

* * *

Brun barged into the hospital tent, stormed past Eir and the other healers who were holding council, and flung back the canvas of the private ‘ward’ where Loki was being treated. She was met by Thialfi Haraldson, who took one look at her and immediately blocked her path to Loki. “Kid,” she snarled, “get out of my way.”

Thialfi put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back, gently but inexorably. “No,” he said firmly, “I can’t do that. Not while you’re like this.”

“You’ve got a lot of balls, and I respect that, but now is _not_ the time to get between me and your dad.”

“I understand what you’re feeling right now, but I need you to—”

“I swear, if you tell me to calm down—”

“—to _think_ , Valkyrie. I need you to stop and think.” He didn’t touch her again, but he kept himself between her and Loki’s bed. Brun glared knives at him, sizing him up. She hadn’t seen nearly as much of the brother as she had of the sister, and this was her first good look at him. He was as tall as Loki but slimmer, probably not trained in combat, and it wouldn’t take much to hurl him to one side without hurting him too much.

A sudden, deep warning growl came from behind Thialfi, and Brun remembered the strange dog. “Between you and your weird pet, sounds like he’s got plenty of protection. You think you stand a chance against me?”

“Tell me why you need to do this now,” the apprentice said, keeping his eyes on her. He didn’t seem to have heard the threat. “You didn’t even want to see him before, and now you want to... what?”

“I don’t – I don’t know, I just know it’s gonna _hurt_. After what he did, he fucking deserves it.” Thialfi’s face creased with confusion. “Bruce told me about Loki’s stunt with the sword.”

“Oh, for... it’s a theory, Valkyrie. That’s all. Eir is theorizing that the energy from the dragonfang was somehow able to destroy the Kursed poison, but we don’t _know_ , we won’t know until Loki wakes up, so tell me why you feel the need to come in here and teach him a lesson when he’s still unconscious!”

“Why? Because that fucking lying sack of shit stole my sword – stole the only thing I have left that matters a damn to me – and tried to kill himself with it.”

“We don’t know that,” Thialfi began.

“Oh, fuck off with that. Look, I know he’s your dad – your not-dad – whatever, I know he matters to you, but I lo– He matters to me too, and he lied to all of us. He lied about being okay, he lied about not being sick, he lied to _me_ —”

“And then seemingly tried to kill himself with your sword.”

Brun flinched.

“That’s really what hurts.”

“He just – he... I...” Anger gave way to tears, and she dropped blindly into a camp chair. “I can’t lose him, too. Not after... everything.”

“I know, Brun.” Thialfi crouched down beside the chair, looking up at her, and for a moment all the medical authority he had wrapped himself in, revealing a very young face and inexpressibly gentle blue eyes. “But we’re taking care of him. He’s in good hands, people who know him and how to treat him. He’s going to be all right.”

“That’s what _he_ told all of us,” she choked. “You could be parroting the same lies, just like him.”

“Loki may have been involved in my conception, but he didn’t bring me up. Lyka and I were raised by royal spies – oh yes, she told me all about that – and what do I have to show for it? I can’t lie to save my life. Besides, do you really think I’m going to let him die? When I’ve got you and Thor, and Norns help me, my sister, all counting on me?” Thialfi reached for her hand and squeezed, and smiled comfortingly. “All right?”

“I...” She pressed her lips together tightly, refusing to give way to tears in front of this boy. “All right... all right. You are... surprisingly good at this. For someone who hasn’t had a lot of interaction with people before fleeing Asgard, you are good at talking to people.”

“Well. Talking is really mostly listening. And I’ve had a lot of practice at doing that. Raised by spies, remember? I can’t lie but I can most certainly listen.”

“Can I see him now?”

“If you promise not to try and kick the shit out of him while he’s unconscious, then yes. You’ll want to wait until he can actually stand, before you beat him up.” Thialfi grinned tiredly and stood up, still holding her hand. “It’ll be more satisfying that way.”

Brun snorted and wiped away some of her tears, and let him lead her to Loki’s bedside. Garm crept out from under the bed slowly, green eyes fixed on Brun, growling a warning in the back of his throat. “Easy, boy,” Thialfi soothed him, “it’s all right. She’s a friend.”

The dog looked suspiciously at Brun and sat, but he clearly had no intention of being friendly with her.

Letting go of Thialfi’s hand, Brun gingerly brushed the tips of her fingers over Loki’s forehead. “He’s so pale,” she whispered. “How can he be this pale and not be dead?”

“There was a substantial amount of blood in the cave, when we found him. It was all his. But the wound is gone, so...” Thialfi turned back the covers to show her. “We’re still not sure what happened.”

Brun touched Loki’s chest, just below the breastbone. She stroked the healed skin wonderingly. “It was so bad, and his back, too... Shit, if I’d known I could help him get better by stabbing him, all he had to do was ask.” Thialfi managed a chuckle, but the joke fell flat for her. Brun bent over and pressed her cheek to Loki’s chest, squeezing her eyes shut tight. At least he wasn’t cold. “I love you,” she murmured. “You’re an asshole, and I can’t promise I won’t punch you when you wake up, but... oh hell, who am I kidding? You’d probably just think it was foreplay.”

She kissed his scar, then moved her lips to his. “Wake up soon, Lackey.” She straightened up and stepped back a pace or two, then took a very deep breath and looked at Thialfi. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for not murdering my patient.” He jerked his head to the prep table. “Have a drink with me.”

She raised her eyebrows but went and sat down with him. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Very funny.”

“Actually, I... think I’ll just have water.” He poured spring water from a jug and handed it to her, then produced a deep plum-colored bottle from a basket and filled a cup for himself. “Does Eir know you’re hiding the good stuff in here?”

“If I hide it in my tent, I’ll just drink it alone.” He smiled faintly. “Besides, a man has to have some vices.”

“You bring your girlfriends in here, too, when there are no patients?”

“Boyfriends. And no.”

“Really? Nice private place like this’d be perfect for a tumble.”

Thialfi shrugged. “I don’t tumble.”

“...What, at all?”

“At all. I’ve tried it. It’s pleasant enough, but I can find better things to do with my time.”

Brun managed a grin. “Well, that’s entirely unlike your father. Sorry, your foster father.”

“He’s my... something. I don’t quite know what, yet. Lyka remembers him far better from when we were children, so there’s more of a relationship there.” Thialfi looked down at his cup. “I haven’t spent nearly as much time with him as Lyka has. I get the impression that he doesn’t care for me as much as he does for my sister.”

“...Well, that’s bullshit. He’d talk about you two non-stop, if I let him.” _If I would let him talk about you two at all._ “Lyka’s his apprentice, of course he’s going to spend more time with her.”

“I tell myself that, but... I think I remind Loki too much of my father. I look just like him, just more slender. And yes, Lyka is the spitting image of our mother, but she could theoretically be Loki’s get. There’s no chance of that with me. He was with my parents, the night of my conception, but he was with them as a woman. And my mother was always adamant that _she_ , not Loki, gave birth to me.”

Brun went a bit dry-mouthed at the idea of Loki, as a woman, with a woman, and then blinked rapidly at the idea of him as a her and giving birth... She gulped down the water and held out her cup for more. “I didn’t intend to fall for him, you know.”

“I’m not surprised. He isn’t the sort of man anyone intends to take seriously, I suspect.”

“There’ve only been two people, before, who I cared for this much. Lost the one and got left by the other. But Loki, I... He trusted me. Which wasn’t something I ever expected. He trusted me and he repaid that trust. Never took advantage of our arrangement, never lied to me – except about _this_ , which is kind of a massive this... And he reminded me of better times and better people. I didn’t... before Loki, I hadn’t let myself think of my old lovers in centuries. Or my step-son... I can barely remember what any of them look like, anymore, but somehow Loki... he reminds me of all of them.”

Thialfi chewed his lower lip for a moment, and then said, very gently, “I cannot speak from experience, but it may be that reliving old memories is perhaps not the best basis for a romantic relationship.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she snapped back. “He reminds me of what _I_ was like when-when I loved those people. And I miss that person. He makes me... shit, he makes me want to be a better person again.”

“For his sake?”

“Fuck, no. For mine.”


	46. Patterns of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the bright daylight of his dreams, Loki and his mother finally speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be a scene. One scene. Which, technically it still is, but what I mean is, it was supposed to be a _short_ scene. Damned loquacious Asgardian royals.
> 
> OH HEY SO GUESS WHAT: [portraitoftheoddity](https://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/) did some _incredible_ Loki/Valkyrie artwork for [Chapter 13](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12735828/chapters/29429436) of this fic, which you can see at the end of that chapter and also [here at her tumblr](https://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/170018248289/youve-still-got-me-tied-you-know-he-whispered)! It is mildly NSFW and _utterly fucking amazing_ , go check it out and flail at her. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki stood, bare-chested, before the full-length mirror in what had once been his bedchamber. “It’s been so long,” he murmured, reaching out to touch the reflection of where the angry scar had been. He didn’t dare touch his own body. “And it... it doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

Frigga appeared in the reflection behind him. “They healed you.” 

“Who?” 

“Your lovers, in Niflheim. And your family, in Vanaheim.”

“The ones I have left, at least...”

“They care about you. You should let them. It is not weakness to let yourself be protected.”

He reached for his shirt and vest and shrugged into them, unwilling to acknowledge that fact too deeply. He smoothed back his hair carefully, then turned with a smile. “Shall we walk in the gardens, Mother?”

They descended to the grounds and walked arm in arm for a time, not saying a word, simply basking in one another’s company and in the resurrection of their home. “Your memory is as astonishing as ever,” Frigga said, with a proud smile at a clever son’s accomplishments. “You even remembered that ill-mended crack in the statue of the huntsman by the fountain.”

“Well, I’m not likely to forget it,” Loki replied, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes, “since I was the one who broke it. ...You never told Father about that.”

“I hated that statue,” said Frigga, with feeling. “Besides, since Thor was the one who threw you at the statue while you were playing, it was hardly your fault that you broke it.”

Loki ducked his head, grinning. And as he remembered that afternoon, he could hear high, boyish laughing behind him, and the pounding of swift footsteps. _‘Thor! Wait for me!’ ‘Come on, Loki, it’s dinner time!’_

But when he looked back... there was nothing. No younger versions of himself and his brother, no gardens, no Asgard... nothing. It was a blank. 

His eyes snapped back to what was before him, his heart heaving into his mouth. Ahead, and beside them as they walked, all was as he recalled it: hedges and flowers and greensward, fountains and ornamental statues, the scent of blossoms and fruit, the warm drowsy hum of bees. 

But now he was aware, and at the very edges of his vision, he could see that as they passed by, what was behind them melted away as soon as it was no longer in view. 

“The mind can only hang onto the past for so long, before it distorts and fades away.” Frigga sighed and patted his hand upon her arm. “Things have changed, Loki. You must change with them. You were always good at adapting to unforeseen obstacles.” 

“Once upon a time, perhaps. But I’m tired of adapting to my circumstances, Mother.” Thor being banished. Odin falling into a sleep like death. Frigga giving him the scepter of kingship. Midgard. Svartalfheim. Sakaar... He shied away from the memory like a burning brand. “Just once, I wish they’d adapt for me.”

They sat down in a sunny patch of grass next to a small stone-lined pond, where Loki had loved to spend his free hours, reading in the shade of a nearby birch tree. 

Frigga threaded her fingers through his, as unwilling to let him go as he was to cease touching her. “Have you no questions for me, Loki?”

“I’ve asked you questions, Mother. Perhaps now I simply wish to enjoy your company, and the warmth of the sunlight.” Even if the sunlight was no warmer than one of Loki’s own illusions, and he and his mother were no more than shades.

Her smile, so tinged with sadness, gave voice to that truth. “You asked me about the Haraldsborn, and I answered. But surely there must be more. You should make the most of this time we’ve stolen. You will have to wake up at some point, and allow me to return to Valhalla.”

“Must I?” he joked, with pain behind his eyes. “Are you sure we can’t stay here, in this beautiful dream?”

“No, Loki,” said Frigga gently. “This Asgard is but a dream, but you and I are real, and your soul is still only lightly tethered to your body.” She clasped his hand between hers, stroking it lightly. “Besides, my son, you have people waiting for you.”

“...Mainly just Thor. And Lyka and Thialfi. But that’s it.”

“Oh, I think there’s someone else.” The teasing tone and the knowing tilt to her lips sent a blush roaring onto Loki’s cheeks. He stammered and blushed for a few seconds and then she put him out of his misery and hugged him. “I am _happy_ for you, Loki,” she said, pulling back to smooth his hair fondly, and even to tug on the lovelock braided into the lightly curling tresses. “Brunnhilde is a good woman and I’m glad you've found each other.” 

“She’s probably going to kill me in my sleep, for what I’ve done. For stealing her swords and running off to the land of the dead without her. And I can’t honestly say that I blame her.” 

She put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him sternly, and Loki gulped, momentarily forgetting that he was a grown man and six inches taller than his mother; they were sitting down and that made no difference anymore. “I only ask that you be as patient with her as she has been with you, after she has been alone and forgotten for so very long.”

“But why? Why was she forgotten? Why were they _all_ forgotten? In less than one lifetime, all of Asgard, and perhaps all the Nine Realms, lost all knowledge of Odin’s bloody wars of conquest, of the fall of the Valkyries, of Hela—” He broke off, watching his mother’s face for any flinch of maternal guilt, but there was nothing. “Why?”

“They were never forgotten. The exploits of the Valkyrior were gilded and turned into legend, and the horrors that Hela and Odin wrought together were hidden away.”

“Ah yes. Out of sight, out of mind. How Odin dealt with all of his problems.”

“And how did you deal with Odin, when you were king?”

Loki opened his mouth to retort... and then shut it, just as quickly. 

Frigga smiled briefly, then dropped her eyes to her skirt, picking nervously at the embroidered hem. “Odin believed that the best way to move on from the wars and from Hela’s betrayal was for the subject to be kept off of people’s lips. To have it remain an unspoken secret.”

“Forgive me, Mother, but I am sensing a pattern.”

“It was not to my liking, either, but as I was not his wife at the time...” She looked over Loki’s shoulder to something beyond them. Loki didn’t dare turn to see what she was looking at. “He put the entire kingdom under a geas, and silenced us all.”

“...All?” Loki whispered, aghast in spite of himself. “And Vanaheim?”

“Vanaheim, Ljosalfheim, Jotunheim... any realm where there were voices left to tell the story, he brought under his spell. They remember her on Midgard, as they remember all of us, merely as stories. But everyone who was there at the end, everyone who survived Hela’s uprising? We all knew the truth. We all remembered, but could not speak of it. Not even Odin himself. And I am proud of you, Loki,” she continued, very seriously, “for using songs and stories, and later actions, to rehabilitate your image, instead of simply trying to force people to forget what you did.”

“Only because I didn’t think of it at the time,” he said with a grin, trying to brush the notion away. But it clung to him like slime. “I... dislike manipulating people’s minds. I know the techniques, but I never felt easy, using them. And after Thanos...” He shuddered and wrapped his arms around his chest, hunching over as if in pain. 

“It’s all right, my son,” Frigga murmured, pulling him close as though to shield him, and rubbing his back soothingly. “You’re safe here.”

“I... I’ve never said his name aloud before. To anyone.” Then, “Thor doesn’t know. I can feel it. He trusts me too much to know the truth.”

“He knows some of the truth. He knows about the Infinity Gems. And you are his brother, Loki. He believes in your love and in your loyalty. If you tell him the rest, he will still stand with you.” She laid her cheek against Loki’s temple. A long-buried childhood impulse led him to put his arms around her, and lace his fingers together so she could not get away.

Loki was conscious of a strange contentment settling on his shoulders, a kind of peace that he had not felt since his early boyhood. For the first time in ages, he was not afraid of what the next day would bring. He knew somewhere, his body lay wounded and unconscious, and his people were homeless refugees cast out upon the mercies of the universe, and there would undoubtedly be angry questions when he finally regained his senses... but he dreaded none of that. 

For the first time... none of it felt insurmountable. 

“I suppose I should ask about Sigyn,” he said after a time, and more thinking aloud than actually speaking to Frigga, “but... I already know that she is alive and well. And I still believe she'll return one day. If not to reclaim me, then at least to tell me why she left.” He twitched his shoulders in a tight little shrug, feeling utterly exposed and self-conscious. “I can’t explain it.” 

“You do not need to try,” Frigga replied, smiling and dropping a kiss on his temple. “You and she always had a very special relationship, even before you were husband and wife. She fought with Odin himself, more than once, to get you the honors and privileges you were destined for.”

“So she did know. That I was... that I am a Frost Giant.”

“Odin told her himself, and laid a geas upon her to bind her to secrecy.” 

“As he bound you, to keep you from telling me the truth about myself.” It was a shot in the dark, but Gudrun’s words haunted him: _“A geas takes no notice of family loyalties.”_

“Yes,” Frigga admitted, after a moment. 

“I had wondered. I didn’t think a mere order from the king would have stopped you from telling me whatever you felt I needed to know.” Loki smiled a little. “Not after you disobeyed his direct decree that you were not to visit me in prison. But what broke the spell? Was it Father telling me himself?”

She nodded. “Even then, as angry and frightened as I was, I lacked the courage to doubt his wisdom.” 

“But Sigyn knew...” Loki sat up, reeling a bit at that revelation. “Did he tell her when we were married? Was that when he started to disapprove of her, because she chose to remain with me in spite of knowing?”

Frigga arched her eyebrows at him. “He disapproved because of the manner in which you both chose to wed, not because of your choice of bride. No, my son. Sigyn knew your true nature from the day you came to the palace as a baby.” She watched as the shock coursed through him. “She was one of my personal guards, long before she was your teacher and friend. She stood guard over your nursery, when you were only a few months old, until we could be certain that you would survive and be accepted as a son of Odin without fear of rumor. And I chose her to train you in combat, when you began to require more time than I could give, because she knew, and could adjust her techniques accordingly, for a Jotunn boy who would mature more quickly than an Asgardian one.”

“She... knew. She knew the entire time, and she still married me. Still wanted to have my...” His throat contracted so sharply that for a second, Loki could not breathe. “Well,” he said huskily, when he regained control of himself, “at least I can be sure _that_ isn’t why she left.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother straighten up, holding herself ready for further questions about his estranged wife. But... he didn’t want to know. It was as simple as that. He trusted Sigyn to the ends of time and the death of the universe. He had to trust that she would tell him herself, someday. 

“Did she also know you intended me to succeed you, as leader of the Koronaugu?”

“She did,” said Frigga, after a long pause. It took Loki a few seconds to realize she had been debating whether to answer him or not. The dead might not be able to lie, but they could most certainly refuse to talk, and her answer also confirmed that Sigyn had known about Frigga’s role in the spy ring. “And she was very relieved when I decided to choose someone else.”

“Who became your successor?”

This time, Frigga did shake her head. “That is not for you. Only the king can know that, and only the leader can reveal themselves, if they so choose.”

“I was king for four years.” When Frigga would not elaborate, he frowned and tried another angle. “Did the leader survive Ragnarok? Are there Koronaugu among the refugees?”

“Yes, to both. They will need to make contact with Thor soon.” 

“And will they do for Thor what you did for Odin?” he asked quietly. “Bring back news of inconvenient heirs in other realms and tell him to dispose of them?”

Frigga’s eyes suddenly blazed with such ferocity that Loki actually leaned back. “That was _not_ what I told Odin.”

“But you did bring him news of me.”

“You were the firstborn heir of a realm that the king of Asgard was intent upon conquering. At the same council meeting, I also told him of the price of beef in the Utgard markets. It was not unusual information for wartime. I never expected...”

“You never expected that when Laufey made his play for Midgard, and was driven back, that Odin would fight his way into a temple and slaughter an infant prince’s caretakers in order to steal him away.” Loki’s jaw tightened and he had to stand up, to pace around the small pond with its gold-and-silver fishes and its colorful water flowers, before he did something unfortunate and destructive with his hands. 

“I don’t care to know details about her,” he said, the words coming slowly, as he chose them with great care, “but... the Jotunn woman who bore me... Heimdall says she mourns for me still.”

A shadow passed over Frigga's face. “She does.” She reached for Loki’s hand, and in spite of his jittery nerves, he gave it and let her pull him back down. “I can tell you about her, if you wish.”

“I do not wish. But... Freya knew her. When she first met me, she seemed entirely unsurprised to discover that I was the long-lost son of her friend. Did all the Nine Realms know of my heritage? Was that a geas of Odin as well?”

“No. If Freya knows, it is because your birth mother told her. She knew you lived, though never that you became one of Odin’s sons. She mourns for your loss, not for your death.” She bowed her head and tightened her grip on his hand. “When Odin took you, it was because of what I had told him, what I had learned of you during the course of my work as an eye of the crown. And when he brought you to me... Loki, you must understand, the moment I held you, I did not want to let you go. Thor was four years old and I so desperately longed for another child...”

Loki said nothing, only touched his hand to her cheek tenderly, remembering with a sensitive child’s too-keen memory the losses his parents had suffered, long before he understood their agony and grief.

Frigga took a steadying breath. “But... I was horrified with what Odin had done. Not only because of the deaths he had caused, but because... there was no point, Loki!” For perhaps the first time in his life, he saw her mask slip. Oh, he had seen her mad at Odin before – It hadn’t been unknown for Frigga to absent herself from the palace for weeks, and when they were young, to take her sons with her to her own hall in the fenlands, when she was angry with her husband – but he had never seen her so _disappointed_ with Odin before. 

“He ignored you,” Loki realized. “You told him not to take me.” 

Frigga snorted softly and plucked at the grass with agitated fingers. “What I told him makes no difference now. He ignored my counsel and so then I had to find a way to try and make amends.”

“...Amends.”

“I... convinced Odin that he had made a mistake. That it would be to Asgard’s detriment to have Laufey think we had murdered his child, that it would retard all attempts at peace between our kingdoms. And this time, Odin saw the wisdom in my counsel. So he told me to take you back.”

Loki felt his heart stop. “Take me back.”

“Yes. Oh, he wanted to make a grand ceremony of returning you, as a gesture of Asgard’s good will, but I cautioned him that if he tried to convince the Jotnar that he had rescued you, peace talks would likely not go in our favor. They are canny people. They know lies.”

“Not all of them,” Loki murmured. “Laufey never saw through mine.” 

“He was never meant to.” Frigga moistened her lips before continuing. “So I took you to Jotunheim secretly, through the hidden pathways. I was not yet Odin’s queen and so my face was unknown throughout the realms, but I cast a glamour over myself so that Odin’s messenger might remain faceless and hidden—”

“‘Not yet Odin’s queen’? But you said Thor was four...” Loki’s eyes went wide. “ _Oh_.”

“Yes. And I will tell Thor that myself, thank you, my son,” said Frigga calmly. 

“Yes, my lady,” replied Loki, carefully obedient. “So... you brought me back to Jotunheim.”

“I did. And I made my way into the ruined palace, just as you did, and revealed myself to the queen.”

“And... was she happy?”

“Oh, Loki... she was overjoyed. When she held you again, I...” Frigga stopped, and he saw tears on her cheeks. “I forgot that they were meant to be our enemies, and that I had wanted to keep you for my own, and saw only a mother and her child, and I cried with her.”

Something in Loki’s chest tightened, and he rubbed fitfully at the spot beneath his breastbone, trying to massage the uncomfortable feeling away. “I was... wanted?”

“You were _wanted_. You _are_ wanted. Never forget that.”

“Then what happened? After all of that, how did I end up a prince of Asgard?”

“I said your mother wanted you back. Laufey refused.” Frigga’s expression darkened, and for a moment, Loki saw the woman she had been in her youth, a spy, a dweller in the shadows, working alone and in secret, and for the sake of peace in the realms, sometimes required to do unpeaceful things. “He feared that Odin had cursed you in some way, or even that you were a changeling, and would not have you in the palace for any price. He said if we offered him back the Casket, he would accept that, as he could not make another, but he could always make another son, and that if I did not take you back to Asgard with me, he would cast you to the wolves.” A small, dangerous smile appeared briefly on her lips. “Laufey’s queen – Nal, is her name – vowed that she might yet give him more sons, but that one day Laufey would die at the hands of his heir.”

“And so he did,” Loki murmured, beginning to tremble. And though he had made sure that Laufey knew his death would be at the hands of the son of Odin, in that final moment, the horror he had seen in the Jotunn king’s eyes had not been for Loki Odinson, but for Loki Laufeyson. “Well,” he said lightly, pushing the thought away, “at least I know that if I ever need to go back to Jotunheim, I can at least avoid execution for regicide. So, I suppose after that, Odin really had no choice but to live with his mistake?”

“Odin agreed that he needed to make amends for his wrongdoing, and planned to give the boy to a trusted adviser to raise in love. He had intended for you to be fostered by his lord chamberlain. You could have been Sif’s brother, rather than Thor’s.” 

“Ah, so old Audun could have had two children to be disappointed in, rather than one...”

“But I refused to give you up again.” Loki looked at her mutely, eyes pleading for something he had never had. “I had promised Nal, as one mother to another, that you would be protected and loved. I _promised_ , Loki.” 

He clenched her hand very tightly, but it was some time before he could speak. “You kept that promise.”


	47. The Sacrifices of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Loki uncovers more secrets of Asgard's hidden history, in the waking world, his caretakers must make a critical decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an extended smut version of the scene with Thor and Sif (if you’re into that sort of thing) posted at a later date – hopefully this weekend. I’d wanted to post it in conjunction with this chapter, but today was hectic and I have no brain left.
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“So... you approve of my... of Brun?”

Frigga tilted her head slightly. “I do. Of course, neither you nor she are at your best right now, but that is why it is good that you have found one another.”

“I always thought you wished me to pair with Sif.”

“At one time, I did. But then again, at one time, I also wished you to pair with Lorelei. I thought it wise to draw back from matchmaking, after that came to such vicious ends...”

“That,” said Loki firmly, “was not your fault. We couldn’t have known—”

“I was her legal guardian and her teacher. I should have known. I should have at least known better than to encourage her to pursue my son, but at the time, I thought she was someone who could appreciate your dual nature.”

“My dual...? Norns, don’t tell me _she_ knew about my heritage as well!”

“Not that, Loki, the – the fluid part of your nature.”

“Oh that,” he said softly. “No... no, she most definitely did not. No one did, at that time, except for Harald and Gudrun. And she killed them. Well, him. I suppose I shouldn’t blame Lorelei for more than is her due.”

“No. Their deaths were my doing. Solely mine. As was your heartbreak, both in the loss of their company and in their deaths. I encouraged you and Lorelei because I wanted to separate you from Gudrun and her husband.”

“...Well, at least now, I understand why.” Loki raked a hand through his hair. “I am not looking forward to having that conversation with my... with Lyka and Thialfi.”

“With your children, Loki. You can acknowledge them now.”

“It feels like so little, after so long.”

“They will not think so, especially after these revelations come to light. They will need your protection.” She paused. “May I ask _you_ a question?”

He looked up in surprise. “What could I possible know that you do not?”

“Why did you tell Sif to bring Lorelei back from Midgard alive?”

“...You don’t want to know the answer to that.”

“Would you rather I formulate my own answers?”

Loki bit his lip. “It suited the role I was playing. Odin would not have allowed Sif to slay her, no matter how much she desired it. And she did desire it: she thirsted for that woman’s blood as much as I did. But the truth is simply that I didn’t want to deny myself the satisfaction of knowing that she was back in the dungeons, silent and suffering and alone. She killed my lover, she orphaned my children, she stole Sif’s betrothed forever, and she ensnared my brother. To say nothing of enchanting thousands and making war on the Nine Realms. She destroyed more lives than I did, and she did it all of her own free will. And people called _me_ a monster.”

“The only one who ever called you that was you, Loki.”

“No, not even Odin had the courage to tell me the truth. I was the only one who was honest enough to say it to my face.”

“To your Asgardian face?”

Loki snarled wordlessly and flung himself down on his back in the grass. For a while, he watched the clouds drift overhead, searching idly for shapes, until he realized he was making the shapes himself, and that he had turned the biggest cloud into a winged horse in full flight.

“The Valkyrie who helped me, in Niflheim,” he said slowly. “Thrud. You knew her, during the wars.”

“Yes. We worked together, on a few occasions.”

“I asked her where Odin went, after he died. She could not tell me, or would not.”

“It was not for her to tell.”

“Is it for you to tell?” Loki pushed himself up on his hands and looked at her with an apprehensive face. “Because Thor is going to ask. Or do you plan to tell him that in private, as well as the fact that he apparently started life as a king’s bastard?”

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “I will tell him, Loki, because as king, he needs to know the truth. Both about his legitimacy, and about the sacrifice that Odin made. I don’t say that to laud him,” she insisted, when Loki rolled his eyes. “It is simply a fact.”

Loki sighed. “What fact?”

“Odin does not dwell in Valhalla. Nor does he dwell in Niflheim,” Frigga added, when Loki’s eyes widened in horror, “nor in Nastrond. It is a sacrifice that the kings of Asgard may choose to make, to give up eternity in the Halls of the Blessed in exchange for the power of restorative sleep.”

It was so unthinkably awful that Loki had trouble wrapping his mind around the concept. “So he traded the certainty of the other side for the Odinsleep. Was he so desperate to live so long?”

“Who was there to take the throne after him? When Hela was young, Odin was still in the full flower of his powers and still hungry for conquest. His brothers had no offspring, at that time. And then we were unmarried when Thor was born – I only agreed to marry him when he agreed to let me keep you, to raise you as our own. In a way,” Frigga said wryly, “you were his bridal gift to me. And then afterward, you and Thor and Fandral were children. He felt he had no other choice.”

“So he is... what? Gone? Just... obliterated from the universe?” Loki was appalled to feel tears beginning to burn the corners of his eyes, and the thought crossed his mind: _He didn’t deserve that._

_...Didn’t he? It’s a fitting punishment, for the billions of lives he destroyed._

_It would be a more fitting punishment for me._

Annoyance and self-loathing warred with grief, and he pulled his legs to his chest and bowed his head for a long time. When he could speak again, his voice was husky. “Is that what I am to tell Thor? That Odin is no more? That _that_ is the fate that awaits him, as king?”

“Odin’s spirit continues on, but he is unable to rest anywhere for long. That is what he gave up, in exchange for the Odinsleep. He comes to Valhalla sometimes, to see me, and sometimes he rests in Hela's old hall, or visits the tormented in Nastrond to give them a little ease. But at all other times, he goes among the Nine Realms, always wandering. Such an eternity need not be Thor’s destiny.” Frigga’s face was grave. “But if he chooses to fall into a regenerative sleep, rather than face death, then yes, that will be Thor’s ultimate fate, as well.”

Loki turned his face away from her. Frigga stroked his hair gently. “You and Thor may encounter your father’s spirit, you know, during your travels. Especially once you reach Earth. He spoke very highly of the place where he last walked.”

“That will make Thor happy. And he and Sif are keeping company now, which will please Odin’s shade immensely, I’m sure. He always favored that match.”

* * *

The sun had reached its peak in the sky, and still Sif and Thor rode leisurely through wood and field. Their aim was the sheltered little brook and waterfall that they both knew well from their young days of adventuring, but after the stress of the previous night and the joy of that morning, they were both content to take their time and let their horses amble where they pleased, while the king and his betrothed talked of everything and nothing.

Both were still slightly reeling and startled from the rush of their engagement, and whenever their shy, happy conversation faded and they fell into their thoughts, it was to contemplate how they had come to this point.

Sif was still trying to overcome her astonishment at the suddenness of her decision. She had not intended to accept Thor’s proposal quite so soon, or quite as determinedly as she had. But it had felt right to do so. _How_ it could possibly feel as right as it did was beyond her. Beyond, perhaps, even her normal standards of duty versus heart. She had always desired Thor for her own, but the idea of marrying him, of being not only his lover but his love, his wife, his _queen_ , had always felt impossible and out of reach.

Now it was neither, and she felt drunk with the certainty of it.

Thor’s thoughts mirrored his intended bride’s, as he reflected on the many campaigns and adventures they had shared over the centuries, and wondered sorely how he had been so blind as to have seen neither the strength and depth of Sif’s attachment to him, nor how worthy she was of his own love...

No, that was not fair. He had always known she was _worthy_ , but in his youth the maidens he had courted had been soft, fair, laughing creatures, who flattered him and made much of his strength and valor. Sif had done neither of those things and never would. She stood with him, side by side, on equal footing on the battlefield, and gave him wise counsel and a steady shoulder to lean upon. She was unafraid to challenge him, and unflagging in her support, as he hoped he would always be for her.

They would not have been fit mates for one another in their youth, he now saw clearly. But they were fitted to one another now.

They reached the banks of the trysting brook and untacked their horses and turned them loose to graze, before beginning to pull off their own clothes. Neither of them had said, “We should have a swim when we get to the brook.” It was simply the thing to do: if a couple went to the trysting brook, even if they had no intent to tryst, they would absolutely be heading into the water.

“It feels a very long time since I was last here,” Sif said. “Or rather, since I brought a lover here.”

“I know, I can’t quite remember... no, that’s a lie, I do remember. The fight against the Havalken serpent, about eighty years ago.”

“Ah, yes,” Sif grinned. “There was a vast number of grateful maidens for you to choose from, as I recall.”

Thor chuckled and pulled her close against his bare chest. “Not as many after Fandral’d had his pick, but enough.” His smile faded into something like wonder as he gazed down at her, hair a bit windblown from the ride, cheeks burnished by the heat and the sun, eyes bright and sly.

Sif reached up and drew her fingers down his cheek. “...I can still hardly believe it. We’re betrothed. To be married. We’re actually going to be _married_.”

Thor’s grin was wide and rather silly. “I know, it’s so _weird_!”

Her smile was like fire, and she pulled him down for a kiss.

* * *

Eir entered the tent where Loki was being treated, raised an eyebrow at Thialfi and Brun, quietly drinking in the corner, then looked down at the dog, still sitting protectively at the head of Loki’s bed.

“Move.”

Ears going back, Garm moved hastily, slinking behind Thialfi’s chair with a little whine. Eir bent over Loki, hands hovering over his head and chest as she probed lightly at his aura with her magic. Then she looked up. “Heimdall, if Dr. Banner is still with you, I need him here.”

Heimdall was a quarter of a mile away, but she had no need to step outside and yell for him. He would hear.

“What’s wrong?” Brun demanded, as Thialfi stood and moved swiftly to the elder healer’s side. He put his hand over Eir’s in order to share in what she could sense.

“Oh,” said Thialfi, after a moment. “That’s...”

Brun growled. “ _What?_ Is he getting worse?”

“No, but... he’s not getting better, either.” He turned, and she read deep concern in his eyes. “We should wait for Bruce to come back.”

“Why?”

Thialfi shook his head slightly. Brun turned and grabbed the wine bottle off the table. By the time she had drained it, Bruce and Heimdall were back.

Eir pulled Bruce and Thialfi into a huddle, speaking in a low voice. Heimdall looked down at Brun and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I hate hospitals,” she muttered, feeling her throat beginning to tighten again.

Something nudged at her leg, and to her surprise, Garm was hunkered under the table, looking up at her with woeful eyes. “Oh, so we’re friends now? Dumbass.” But she stroked his wiry head and smiled a bit when he licked her wrist.

“They’re ready,” Heimdall said.

Brun stood up slowly, balling her hands into fists at her sides so that she could dig her fingernails into her palms, if the worst should prove true. She had promised herself a long time ago, she would never face down the end of the world any other way except on her feet... “What’s the diagnosis?”

“He is mending,” Eir assured, “but although he is no longer fighting the Kursed poison and his outward wounds have healed, there is – as Thialfi discovered – a significant amount of internal damage that is still healing. But slowly. Too slowly for my liking.” Eir held out a small tablet for Brun to examine, and it didn’t escape Brun’s notice that in Thor’s absence, Eir was treating _her_ , rather than Thialfi, as Loki’s next of kin.

Brun frowned at the tablet. “What are all of these blue highlighted spots?”

“Although the prince’s ability to hold seidr is also healed, something appears to be draining it away from him as fast as it reforms, and I believe this is what is holding back the healing of his body as well.”

“Can you identify the cause?”

Eir nodded. “The prince has any number of permanent and semi-permanent spells that he has set up over the centuries, and over vast distances, and unless the seidr-master alters the spell when it is cast, the magic naturally draws on the spell-caster for its sustainability. Even when he was lost in the Void, Loki was still powering countless spells, both small and large. And now... now, I am concerned, because he is not waking, even though there is no physical reason for him to still be unconscious. I fear that the drain on his body from these spells, after being weakened for so long, may be too great for him to overcome. I fear that, if I do not break these spells, or break what spells I can, thereby freeing Loki’s body and magic to heal correctly, he may settle into a comatose holding pattern.”

That was a lot to take in, and at first, Brun wasn’t sure what she was saying. She handed the tablet to Thialfi with a questioning expression. He took a deep breath. “Loki might never wake up. Essentially, he could become a vegetative magic battery.”

Brun stared at her. “So what are you waiting for? Break the spells!”

“I am waiting, because there is a problem,” said Eir, with all the dry patience borne of centuries of handling jittery family members. “The problem is that I have no way to identify the subjects of most of the spells. Some of them, Loki cast upon himself, but the others, I cannot trace. All but one.” Eir turned and looked apologetically at Bruce. He pressed his lips together and tried to shove his hands into his pockets, but the Vanir trousers had none. “Loki used a blood spell to bind himself to Bruce, to stabilize his form and keep the transformation at bay.”

“So if you break all of these spells, there’s no question of it, we’re getting the Hulk back.” Eir nodded. Brun glanced at Bruce. “And... you’re willing to do this?”

He folded his arms across his chest and hunched over. “I’m not _thrilled_ about it. The other guy and me, we’re not really on great speaking terms. I was the Hulk for two years and I barely remember any of it, and I told Thor back on Sakaar that I didn’t know if I’d be able to come back from being the Hulk again. I have _no_ recollection of the night here that I reverted back and you had to drug me. So... I’m scared. Plus, there are people on Earth who’d prefer that Loki end up as a vegetable. But at the end of the day... I’m a doctor, and I have an oath to do no harm.”

Tears choked Brun’s throat, but Thialfi saved her from having to speak, by saying what they both felt. “Thank you, Bruce,” he said huskily.

“Yeah, well. Yeah. Um... should we maybe wait until Thor gets back to do this? Since it’s his brother and he’s, y’know, king.”

“I’d rather not wait,” said Eir. “The longer he stays like this...”

“Right, okay.”

“I’ll take you down the river a-ways,” Brun offered. “That way you can change without smashing anything. Hopefully.” Bruce nodded, glanced around a last time at everyone, and then headed out. Brun touched Heimdall’s arm before she followed. “Keep a watch. I’ll let you know when he’s ready.”

“I’ll need a few moments to prepare for this,” Eir said, taking the tablet from Thialfi. “The backlash from the broken spells may be violent.”

He watched her duck into the next tent, and chewed the inside of his cheek nervously.

“It’ll be all right, lad,” said Heimdall kindly.

“Of course, of course...” Thialfi twisted his hands together and then, for lack of anything better to do, checked Loki’s pulse. “Watcher. Is my sister in the encampment?”

“No,” Heimdall said, after a moment. “She’s in Volkang, with the Vanir.”

“With Brynja. Of course.”

“I can fetch her, you know. As Loki’s son, you are a prince in your own right, part of the royal family, whose orders I have sworn to obey. You need only say the word.”

Thialfi looked as though he didn’t care for that. “It’s not even official yet... and no, thank you. She’s probably asleep.”

“After the night you’ve had, you could use some rest yourself.”

“I’m aware of that,” Thialfi said quietly, and bent down to check Loki’s pulse again.

* * *

It took the Valkyrie and Bruce a while to reach a spot along the river that she felt was far enough away from the camp and the village and the various drying racks and fishing spots. “Sorry about this.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Bruce said, wheezing slightly as they came to a stop a good mile-and-a-half away from Volkang. “I don’t wanna hurt anybody, that was... that was just a hell of a pace you set.” He doubled over with his hands on his knees. “The Other Guy’s the superhero, I’m just a doctor.”

A muscle in her cheek jumped. “Thank you, Bruce,” she said quietly. “For this.”

“Eh. Needs to be done.” He plopped onto the grass and began wrestling with his boots. “Hey, do you mind if I take all of this off? I mean, besides the pants. It would just be nice to save most of my clothes, for when I change back – if I change back. I really like this vest.”

“Sure, go for it.”

Bruce stripped off most of his outer clothes and folded them neatly, handing them to the Valkyrie for safekeeping. He swung his arms back and forth a few times, looking around appreciatively. She’d seen that behavior before. It was the act of a man on his last day alive.

“Hey. If I don’t manage to come back... I just wanna say thanks. For everything. For being the Other Guy’s friend. You probably saved both of our lives back there, on that planet.”

She smiled a little. “Having you around probably saved me just as much.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “You ready?”

“Might as well be.”

The Valkyrie took a deep breath, and looked back towards the village and the encampment and the hospital tents. “Heimdall,” she said softly, “we’re ready.”

* * *

Heimdall opened his eyes. “He’s ready.”

Eir, standing at Loki’s bedside with one hand on his forehead and one hand over his heart, nodded. “Stand back, both of you,” she ordered, jerking her head at Thialfi, who was hovering close. “And keep hold of the dog. If I’m right, no one who isn’t already under one of the prince’s spells will be affected, but the force of the release may be... dramatic.”

“When is he not?” Heimdall muttered, which drew shallow grins from both of the healers.

Eir bowed her head and concentrated, and for a few moments, there was no sound, not even that of their breathing, only the warm midday air standing very still.

Then there was a great cracking sound, and something green and shimmering ripped through the tent, flaring out from the bed like a star going nova. Garm yelped loudly and dove under the prep table, and when the flare hit Thialfi, he _felt_ the massive energy surge pass through him and gasped hard, his eyes going wide. “I’m all right,” he managed, when Heimdall started to bend down. “Just... startled.”

He took a few deep breaths and looked up. “Did it work?”

“So it seems. Now, that’s a sight I’ve not seen since he was three months old.” Eir stepped back, revealing that with the breaking of all the spells, Loki had reverted to his Jotunn form. Thialfi moved forward quickly with the hand scanner.

“He’s breathing more easily already,” he said in disbelief. “And the internal scars are beginning to smooth out.” A sharp punch of relief hit Thialfi right between the eyes, and he began to cry.

* * *

At the riverside, Brun sat on a rock and watched her friend tiredly. “Hey there, big guy.”


	48. The Heart of a Knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The breaking of Loki's many enchantments has some very immediate results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s so much going on in this chapter, it took me twice as long to write. *falls over* 
> 
> Updates are going to be a tiny bit unpredictable for a while, as I’m moving into a new apartment over the course of the next month, so a good chunk of my free time will be spent packing and carting boxes around. The fic’s not going on hiatus, though! Just remember not to panic if I don’t update when I’m supposed to. ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki gasped sharply. “What... what was that?” he whispered, clutching at his chest.

Frigga smiled and pulled him close. “It’s all right.”

“No... no, it’s not!” He looked around wildly as his constructed dream of Asgard rocked and began to crumble. “We have to – I have to get out!” The ground cracked beneath his feet. Loki clung to his mother, a panicked “No no no _no!_ ” all he could muster.

“This is all in your mind,” Frigga assured him, her voice calm and steady in his ears. “You are _safe_ , Loki. Your family is with you, and so am I.”

“I won’t fall? You won’t let me fall?”

“Never.” She urged his head down onto her shoulder. “Sleep now, my son.”

He put his trust in her, and closed his eyes. The chaos around him faded from his ears, and he was enveloped in a deep, dreamless sleep, held securely in his mother’s arms.

* * *

On the bank of the trysting brook, beside the large and roaring waterfall, Thor and Sif lay next to one another, stretched out on the cool grass beneath the warm afternoon sunlight. Nearby were the clothes they had remembered to drag upstream from where they had started. They had gone up the brook specially, to reach the big waterfall, for the express purpose of sporting in the cave behind it as they had each done in their younger days with other people.

Thor stretched his free arm and bent it behind his head. He couldn’t hear a damned thing over the thunder of the waterfall except the sound of his own thoughts, and it was glorious. He could lie there with Sif at his side and forget about everything for a little while... pretend that he was young again, and sneaking away from his responsibilities to make love to a beautiful maiden in the woods...

He smiled drowsily at Sif, who wrapped up in his cape and fast asleep in the crook of his arm. They had worn one another out very thoroughly, that afternoon, and Thor was thinking about a nap of his own, when he felt a strange sensation pass through him. It was like a disc of ice, first blazing hot and then bitterly cold, slicing through his entire body. It wasn’t especially strong, and most of it passed away so quickly that it took Thor a moment to recognize the touch of Loki’s magic. But Loki was more than a mile away.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered, twisting slightly to rid himself of the lingering ache the energy surge had left.

A familiar voice somehow managed to make itself heard over the water. “Your brother, finally letting himself relax”

Thor looked up and, only half-surprised, saw his mother sitting near the pile of his discarded garments, looking much as she had the last time he had seen her alive, with the same persistent half-smile on her lips and the same warmth and intelligence glittering in her eyes. As well as some degree of amusement.

“Oh _shit_!” Thor muttered, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he tried to tug some of the cape away from Sif.

Frigga rolled her eyes and flung his breeches at his head. “Oh, stop it. I changed your diapers, for heaven’s sake.”

* * *

Lyka shot bolt-upright out of a sound sleep, breathing hard. She had felt a bizarre... she wasn’t even sure what to call it – _something_ , pass through her. Still half-asleep, she rubbed her chest fitfully, frowning and trying to put a name to it. It felt... it reminded her of when Loki had pushed upon the bound seidr in her soul, and it had pushed back. Then, it had felt like the bounce of a child’s simple rubber ball. Now it felt different, like the tip of a dagger pushing into the heart of a knot of rope.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and drew in slow, deep breaths, trying to calm herself. As her racing heart slowed and she woke more, she heard voices outside of Brynja’s tent. Brynja, sounding frustrated, and Freya, sounding exhausted and peevish.

 _Freya._ If the Lady of Vanaheim was there, that meant that the search party had returned. Lyka looked around the unfamiliar tent, trying to remember where she had laid her dress the night before.

“Please,” she heard Brynja say, “I want to go _home_.”

“Need I remind you that neither of us are welcome to return to Sessrumnir until our business here is concluded? You would only be turned away at the gates – or worse, thrown into the dungeons. Neither of us is in favor with the king right now.”

“And you are only making that worse! This business could have been concluded the day we arrived! Either give them what they want or give them nothing, but put an end to it and let them leave. But you’ve deliberately dragged these talks out – why? Do you not want to go back, is that it?”

“Do not presume to know my mind.”

“I’m not, I only— What is _wrong_ with you, Grandmother?”

“Watch your tongue, girl. Remember who it is that you address.” Freya waited a moment and then spoke again, more gently this time. “You should be glad the Asgardians have not left us yet.”

“What does it even matter? They will, one way or the other, and soon.” Brynja’s voice was dismayed. “She would not wish to leave her father and brother for me. Not after barely a day.”

“In wartime – and make no mistake, child, that is what the Asgardians are suffering – sometimes a day is all that is needed.” Then, “Lokisdottir is awake.”

Lyka laid down quickly, pulling the covers up to her chin and yawning widely as Brynja entered. She caught the brief expression of desperation on the Vanir girl’s face, before it was quickly smothered, first by an instinctive startlement at finding Lyka in her bed, even though she’d been there all night, and then by a shy, awkward smile. “Good morning,” Lyka murmured sleepily.

“Good afternoon,” Brynja teased.

“Oh, please tell me you’re jesting.”

“Afraid not. The sun is high in the sky.”

“Mmm.” Lyka stretched luxuriously beneath the sheets, watching Brynja from under her eyelids, and laughing to herself at how Brynja blushed at her movements. “One might almost think you’d worn me out.”

“With talking, perhaps,” Brynja retorted, coming closer. “As that’s all we did. And you did most of it.”

“It’s nice to have someone new to talk to,” said Lyka, honestly enough. She pushed herself upright and patted the bed next to her. Hesitantly, Brynja sat down, but when Lyka put her arms about her and lifted her face for a kiss, Brynja obliged her willingly.

“It is,” she agreed softly. “Very nice.”

Lyka tugged her lower lip with her teeth. “I heard you and your grandmother talking... The search party, did they...?”

“They found the prince. He’s alive. Injured, so I’m told, but healing.”

Lyka’s eyes slid closed against a wave of relief. “Thank the Norns...”

“He means a great deal to you, doesn’t he.” Brynja’s voice was wistful. “I’m glad for you, Lyka, that he was found. I never knew my own father. When I was born, my family sent a messenger to him, but... they never came back. We never discovered if the message was delivered or not. I’ve often wondered what he would think of me, if he would approve... but I would rather have no father at all, than to lose two in one lifetime.” She kissed Lyka softly. “I am glad you were spared that.”

Lyka’s arms tightened around her, and for a little while they sat like that. The position was awkward and not entirely comfortable, but neither of them wished to be elsewhere.

“Why were you and Freya arguing?”

Brynja huffed irritably and sat back, rubbing the back of her neck. “There is a... medicine I take, a preparation of herbs. I’m nearly out of them, and the Volkang healers have no such physick for me. And I need it. Rather a lot. There’s none to be had here and the only other place I know of to get it is back in the city. But I’m forbidden to leave this place until Grandmother’s negotiations are concluded. And now with Prince Loki in his sickbed...”

“If you have enough left to spare a sample, my people can likely help you. There are machines on the ship for synthesizing drugs.”

“If... if you think they would be willing to help me. Your chief healer, she seems... quite ferocious.”

Lyka grinned. “She has to be. But she is kind, in her way, and extremely able.” She kissed Brynja’s cheek and then reached for her outer clothes. “I need to go there anyway, to check on Loki. And to apologize to my brother for vanishing. I’m sure he must be worried about me – we’ve literally never been apart a day in our lives.”

She dressed thoughtfully, smiling when Brynja blushed and averted her eyes, even though they had spent the night wrapped mostly chastely in one another’s arms, and she was still entirely covered and decent. “Brynja? What did your grandmother mean, that neither of you are in favor with the king?”

“It’s why we were sent, rather than Uncle Freyr. I told you that.”

“Yes, but why? What happened?”

“I... don’t really know. It was perhaps a month or six weeks ago, when Njord became very distant and withdrawn. Then Freyr started behaving very coldly, which is _highly_ unlike him. Then the king sent my mother and aunt on a voyage to the royal holdings in Noatun, on the southern peninsula, which is several weeks’ journey from Sessrumnir, and did not say when they might return. And then in the days and weeks before Grandmother and I were sent here, I noticed a great many people disappearing from court. But when I mentioned it to Grandmother, she simply told me to be silent.”

Lyka pulled on her boots, and paused. “Six weeks is roughly when Asgard was destroyed. Perhaps Njord decided then to make some sort of power grab?”

“I... perhaps? But we knew nothing of it at the time. Vague rumors started trickling in after a few days, from other realms, but we had no confirmation until your arrival. It’s all been so strange.”

 _Strange, indeed,_ Lyka thought, straightening her sleeves and smoothing her hair.

When they emerged from the tent, Freya was speaking with one of her grooms of the stable, who looked very uncomfortable and downcast. “He’s meant to be in charge of our horses,” Brynja whispered.

“Poor man,” said Lyka, with great sympathy.

Upon seeing the girls, Freya dismissed her servant and came to meet them. “Slept you well, Lyka Lokisdottir?”

“Yes, my lady.” Lyka curtsied respectfully. “I thank your ladyship for your gracious hospitality.”

“We’re going to the Asgardian’s hospital tent,” said Brynja to her grandmother, a little shortly. “Lyka wishes to see her father and brother.”

“A very admirable destination. I will accompany you both.” Freya leveled a cool gaze at them, anticipating an objection, and when she received none, smiled politely. “I, too, wish to ask after the prince. And to thank this lady’s brother, the young healer who attended me so well upon my return journey.”

She turned and strode off, not waiting for their response. Lyka and Brynja exchanged a grimace behind her back, but there was little else they could do except follow her.

* * *

For a long time, the Hulk just stared at Brun. His broad face was awash with a mixture of anger, hurt, and confusion. She stayed where she was and returned his gaze steadily, even though every muscle in her body was screaming at her to get into a fighting stance.

But she knew better. Looking like she was ready to attack him was the quickest way to piss him off.

“Hey, big guy,” she said again, smiling. “Missed you.”

He huffed loudly through his nostrils. “No.”

“I did!”

“No.”

“I did. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“No friends. No like Hulk. Like Banner better.”

“Not better. Different. I still like you.”

“Like puny god better.”

“‘Puny...? Oh. You mean Loki.”

Hulk grunted. “Puny god.” He pounded his fist into his palm. “Smash.”

“I get that, buddy, but he’s been smashed enough.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “You hurt Hulk. Get Banner back. No friends.”

Brun sighed. “I know, and... I’m sorry. I hated to do it, but you were scaring people.”

“...Didn’t mean to. I... Hulk was... scared.” He sat down next to her, shaking the ground for half a mile around.

“I know. You wake up in a strange place, where it’s all dark and there’s no room to breathe, and then you get outside and you still don’t know where you are or who anyone is...” Brun folded Bruce’s vest around his shirt and boots. “And then there’s all these people.”

Hulk nodded. “Running. Yelling. Pointing at Hulk. Hulk got scared. Saw puny god. Got angry. _Smashed_ puny god.”

“You sure did. You almost ripped his arm out.”

“Good. Puny god bad.”

“He’s a pain in the ass, I’ll give you that much. But he’s... you get used to him. His kids are good.”

Hulk’s big green face creased into a very confused frown. “Puny god... daddy?”

She choked back a laugh. “Oh my god, that is the cutest thing... yes, sure, Loki’s a daddy.”

His frown grew deeper as he tried to wrap his brain around that idea. Finally, he stood up.

“Where’re you going?”

Hulk pointed to the river. “Swim.”

The water at that spot wasn’t really deep enough for swimming, but he managed, splashing around in the icy water and hurling boulders until he felt better and was willing to be brought back to camp. But he was still unhappy with her. “Go Hulk room,” he said, pointing to the ship.

“Good idea, big guy.” She walked with him to the ship, keeping a careful eye out for anyone who might start panicking and undo all her hard work, but all the people seemed entirely content to keep out of the way of a walking green mountain. “I’ll come by later, okay? Bring you some dinner.”

He let out a non-committal grunt and trundled up the ramp to make his way to the empty cargo hold where he had slept.

Brun sighed heavily. “I need a nap,” she muttered to herself. “And a shower. And a drink. And to hit something. In whatever order, I don’t care.”

She turned around and almost jumped out of her skin.

Clustered in front of her was a group of children from the camp, all of them very young and looking very worried. Some had tear stains on their faces. A stocky boy with blond hair stood at the front of the group, apparently as spokesman. It took her a moment to place him: Thor’s ward, Alaric Volstaggson.

Brun took a steadying breath. “Congratulations, you’ve all managed to sneak up on a Valkyrie,” she said, with a shaky grin. “Something I can do for you?”

“My lady, is – is it true? About Prince Loki?”

“Is what true?” she asked carefully.

Alaric swallowed, but pressed on bravely. “We know that he went out last night, and was brought back this morning by the king, but... please, is he well? It’s just... all his enchantments have gone.”

Brun looked at Alaric for a moment, and then crouched down. He was a big boy, and not really that much shorter than she was, but he was clearly working hard to control his tears and he didn’t need the added stress of looking up at a Valkyrie. “What kind of enchantments?”

“He made us dragons!” piped up another child, a tiny little girl with soft eyes skin as brown as Brun’s.

“...Dragons?”

“Not real ones,” Alaric explained. “Just illusions. But they acted like they were alive, and they would do tricks for us.”

“And birds!” said a second boy, this one with a poorly-tamed mop of red curls. “Big colorful birds that would follow us around the camp while we did our chores.”

“And now they’re all gone, my lady, and... and we were afraid that...” Alaric’s brown eyes spilled over with tears.

Brun bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. _So that’s how you were spending your free time, Lackey, and all the energy you couldn’t really spare. Trying to make the lives of a bunch of frightened kids a little more bearable. And they love you for it. You utter bastard. I swear, if you die on us, I’m going to hunt you down in Niflheim and beat your ass bloody._

“Now you listen to me, okay? Prince Loki is going to be _fine_. Do you have any idea how hard that man is to kill? Well, I know, because I’ve tried.” But she grinned when she said it, and got the stress-relieving giggle from the children that she had hoped for. “Your pet sorcerer will be back up and making mischief before you know it. Understand?”

Fifteen or twenty heads of varying hues nodded fervently.

“Good. Now get going, you’ve all probably got chores or training or something better to do.”

The children dispersed in a variety of directions. All except Alaric. “My lady?”

“Call me Brun. I don’t rate the title.”

“Will you ask the king if I can visit Prince Loki?”

“Why not ask him yourself? He’s your guardian?”

“Well, yes, but...” Alaric shrugged uncomfortably. “He’s so busy. I don’t want to bother him.”

Brun remembered Thialfi’s very similar complaint and gritted her teeth, vowing to knock the brothers’ heads together at the first opportunity. “I’ll ask him,” she promised, “as soon as I see him.”

The boy grinned and ran off. Brun rubbed her forehead and then trudged back to towards the hospital tent to tell them about the Hulk, and about Loki’s army of frightened children.

* * *

Thialfi was alone in Loki’s hospital tent when the Lady of Vanaheim appeared, with the younger women in tow. He accepted Freya’s thanks with a small smile and an elegant bow, and then hugged his sister tightly. “Please don’t do that to me again,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in return. “Something came up. Brynja needs to talk to you.”

“...Why, are you two getting married or something?”

She poked him playfully in the ribs and drew back. “Councilor Freya wishes to visit with the prince. I will stay with them, brother, while you continue your work.”

He nodded and moved aside to let Freya and Lyka pass to Loki’s bed, then beckoned silently to Brynja.

They went into the central tent, where the healers held their meetings and where most of the equipment was stored. When he was sure they were alone, Thialfi turned to his sister’s friend. “Lyka said you wanted to speak to me about something?”

“Er... yes.” Brynja fumbled a bit with her belt pouch and pulled out a small cloth bag. “I was hoping you could find me more of this. I’m, that is... I have a condition.”

Thialfi took the powder and ran it through an analyzer Bruce had brought from the shipboard infirmary, checking it against a database of known chemical compounds. It turned up matches with a number of drugs, mostly for the suppression of testosterone and the stimulation of estrogen. He looked up at Brynja with a reassuring smile. “You’re in luck.”

Her face lit up. “You have something?”

“We have a somewhat disturbingly large number of somethings, actually. So much of where and how they got this ship, I never want to know the answers to... Let me do a bit more detailed analysis to narrow the possibilities down, but yes, I think I can find something to hold you over, until you can get back to the city.”

“Thank you,” Brynja said fervently, and indeed, she looked almost pathetically grateful. “If there’s anything I can do for you in return...”

“Oh no, nothing. Um. So. You and my sister...”

Brynja gulped. “Uh, yes?”

“You...” He gestured awkwardly at her with a stylus. “Spent the night together.”

“We slept together. That is, we _slept_ , that’s all, I swear—”

“I’m not the keeper of my sister’s maidenhead,” said Thialfi dryly. “She’s a grown woman. I just... didn’t know where she was. That’s not something I’ve ever had to cope with before.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t take advantage of your sister, you know. She was worried about... about your father. She didn’t want to be alone.”

“I can understand that,” he said gently, but with a growing sense of loss. “Neither of us are used to being alone.”

* * *

Freya stood for a long time at Loki's bedside simply staring down at him. It occurred to Lyka that he would be very annoyed to be viewed in this way, by an opponent and while in his Jotunn form. She found it strange but not especially frightening, but she understood a little of how he had struggled with it. She remembered her mother telling her once that her grandmother had been a Light Elf, but one of no great beauty, and how that shame had driven her from Ljosalfheim.

The Lady of Vanaheim seemed to be thinking along similar lines. “Is it true,” she murmured, “that when he discovered his heritage, he tried to make away with himself?”

“To the best of my knowledge, lady... yes, it is true.”

She let out a low sound of pain. “The poor boy,” Freya murmured, reaching out to touch Loki’s cheek. “The poor, devastated boy. And then everything that came after was because of that one secret.”

Lyka looked down at her boots. “I think it safe to say that it was not just the one secret,” she said softly. “As we have learned, to our cost.”

“You are a wise woman, Lyka daughter of Loki. You have learned the value of secrets, and their costs, very quickly.” Freya’s voice hitched a little. Lyka looked up sharply and saw a tear roll down her elegant cheek. “I am... sorry, that you had to hear all of the vile things the prince and I said to one another, at our last meeting.”

“That was certainly a learning experience,” Lyka admitted, a vague idea forming in her mind.

“If it is any consolation, most of it was not true.”

“Only most?”

“The most devastating accusations come from the truth, even when it is embellished beyond all likelihood.”

“Then is it true,” asked Lyka quietly, the invisible dagger pushing deeper into the knot in her chest, “that you were once Odin’s mistress?”

She didn’t really expect an answer, but to her surprise, Freya turned. She studied the young Asgardian for a moment. “No,” she said at last. “It’s true that I seduced him once, long ago before his wars of conquest, when we were both young and unfettered, but it was certainly not on my father’s orders. It meant nothing, and in the end, it came to nothing. Odin married another.”

* * *

Frigga gently stroked Thor’s face, and her eyes filled with tears as she traced the surface of the patch under his right brow. “I never wanted you to emulate your father,” she murmured. “And never like this.”

“Why were we never told about Hela?” Frigga sighed and set about recounting what she had shared with Loki, about their father. “So, the secrecy... it was because of the geas?”

“Not precisely. The geas was what he believed was best for the realms. His silence on the matter of his firstborn was for his own peace of mind. He was ashamed, both of what he had created, and how he had dealt with her.”

Thor looked closely at his mother’s shade. “She wasn’t your daughter, was she. You’re far too calm, even for a queen.”

There was a compliment buried in there, somewhere, which Frigga accepted with a graceful incline of her head. “She was not my daughter. Odin had another wife, long before me.” She waited for Thor’s astonishment to pass. “He was rather older than me, you know.”

Of course Thor had known, but he had never considered... “Who was she?”

His mother looked at him for a moment. “It is a short, ugly story, Thor. But I will tell you. Loki knows the end of this story, so it’s only proper that you should know the beginning.

“During your grandfather Bor’s war with the Dark Elves, some of the elite Svartalfar were kept on Asgard as hostages. The theory was that this would guarantee Malekith’s good behavior. Among these hostages were his wife, Rindr, and her children by Malekith. Odin, who was regent while his father was at war, was a very young man in those days... still young enough to be not wholly swallowed by conquest and derision of other beings, and he found Rindr very beautiful, very courageous, and very proud. And he tried to press his suit, but she refused him. When Malekith chose instead to slaughter his own species in order to save himself and a handful of others, the hostages preferred honorable suicide, rather than the execution they expected at Bor’s hands. By the time Odin realized what had happened, all but Rindr were dead by their own hands.”

Thor would have been, as well. “...And her children?”

“Dead by her hand. Odin was too late to do anything else but stay Rindr’s hand from her own throat. She demanded to know by what right Odin Borson had kept her from joining her husband on the other side. And Odin was struck with her pride and her courage, and said, ‘Your husband is here.’” Thor’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at his mother like a mannerless peasant. “And this time, she did not refuse.”

“That does not mean she was willing,” Thor remarked, a foul taste rising in his throat.

Frigga did not shame herself by trying to deny it. “I cannot say what I would have done, if I had been in Rindr’s place, but... what else could she do? She had just lost everything, some through her own doing, but she was being offered a chance to live – as a war bride, true enough, but it was a chance. Perhaps she thought she could regain her power, save any who remained of her people. Perhaps she wanted revenge on Bor, and would take it through his son. Perhaps she simply wished to live.”

“And so Odin’s first wife was a _Dark Elf_... But he _hated_ the Dark Elves. Or did that hatred only come later?”

“Hatred of that kind is... very fickle, my son. When Bor returned from the wars and found his eldest son and heir secretly wed to his enemy’s widow, Odin swore on bended knee that he loved her. And by that time, Rindr was already carrying Odin’s child, and your father was as stubborn as you were, at that age. And then when she died in childbed, leaving Odin with a daughter as pale as bleached bone, Bor urged him to cast the child out, as a bastard and a foul thing, conceived in sorcery, and to take an Asgardian bride. Instead, enraged and grief-stricken, Odin vanished from Asgard with his daughter, for centuries, and only returned when Bor was on his death bed. And...” Frigga trailed off and then shook her head. “Well, you know the rest.”

It was mind-shattering. “To think that Odin Borson, the Allfather, son of the slayer of all the Dark Elves, actually took one to wife, and possibly unwillingly... Knowing all of that... why did you ever decide to marry him?”

“Apart from the fact that I loved him?” Frigga sighed. “You have to understand, Thor, that much of this, I only discovered after I was already too involved with your father, and too involved in my work, to get away. And because of our relative positions – he as king, I as the head of the Koronaugu, when he offered me marriage, making that decision was... complicated.” She took her son’s hand and laced her fingers with his. “You were four years old before I made up my mind.”

“I was...” Thor blinked and then slowly shook his head. “No. Oh... oh no.”

“Yes, love. I was Odin’s mistress first, and did not become his wife until after the Winter War.”

A jolt of dynastic panic flashed through Thor’s body. “Then I’m a – I’m not fit to be king, I – ”

She pressed her free hand to his mouth. “Hush,” his mother ordered sternly, “and let me finish.” She stroked his cheek for a moment, a look of profound sadness in her eyes. “Odin was old when I met him. Oh, he was valiant and dashing and handsome enough in body, and I was willing to be charmed into his bed, but in his mind and soul, he was an old man.

“Half a million years, he had lived, continuously rejuvenated but always getting older. He outlived his parents, his brothers, and a hundred generations of Asgardians. It is why he became known as the Allfather. But very few minds are equipped to handle remembrances of living so long, so many of the memories of what he had done simply became... locked away. Not forgotten, but kept as though shelved in a vast, dark library. He was not the man you came to know, when I married him, but he was also not the father Hela knew when he locked her away.

“And you were part of the reason.”

Thor’s jaw clenched at the memory of facing Hela in the throne room. “She told me...” _“Odin and I drowned entire civilizations in blood and tears. Where do you think all this gold came from? And then one day he decided to become a benevolent king. To foster peace, to protect life. To have **you**.”_ “She told me I was why Odin gave up making war.”

“You were certainly part of it. The most visible part, for Hela. The part that led to her being imprisoned. She saw you as a threat.”

“Even as a baby?”

“You were a rival claimant to the throne – her only rival. Odin has no other children. His father Bor had sown his seed throughout the Nine Realms, and Odin saw what trouble it caused _him_.”

“Wait, Odin has other siblings besides the twin brothers?”

“Had. Hela... found them all. As I said... she would brook no rivals.”

“And then I came along,” said Thor, a little bitterly. _“I’m Odin’s firstborn, the rightful heir, the savior of Asgard. And you’re **nothing**.”_ “I wasn’t even worth enough of her time to tell that I was an accidental bastard.”

“Not accidental. Thor, I loved your father. I wanted a child by him. I wanted _you_.”

“In spite of everything he did, you wanted one of his get?”

“You say that as though I’m blameless,” Frigga retorted. “I was _there_ , Thor, in the conquest’s waning centuries. I may not have participated in the slaughter, but I was as complicit as anyone. As Brunnhilde, as Heimdall – _none_ of us are without guilt.” She glared at him until he had to look away, ashamed, but of what, he was not entirely sure. “And it was not your birth that caused Hela to rebel. It was when Odin decided to legitimize you. He acknowledged you as his son, and by the laws of Asgard, that made you as much his heir as Hela. She could not contest it.”

“Then... why? Why tell me all of this now?”

“Would you have preferred never to know? It is a part of your history, part of your past... and potentially a past that your enemies may recall, and will try to use against you.”

He snorted. “What enemies? Who is left who would bother harming us? We’re nothing.”

“There is trouble in Sessrumnir,” she said shortly. “Njord has been compromised, and Freyr as well. I don’t know who else. But the Vanir are longer lived than we are, far longer, and they have long memories. They will talk, if it is to their benefit.”

“How do you know?”

“I may be a spirit, but I am still a spy, my son.”

“Who has done this? Who controls Njord and the court?”

Frigga fell stubbornly silent, and for a moment, looked astonishingly like Loki when he was being obstinate.

Thor bit back a growl. “Mother, all this secrecy and talking around the truth... why can’t you just _tell_ me what’s happening and who is responsible, so we can prepare for it?”

A shadow passed over her face. “Because I’m afraid, Thor.”

“Of what?” Thor asked after a moment, not entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer. What could frighten the dead?

“Of a reckoning.” Frigga toyed with the embroidery at her hem, realized what she was doing, and worked visibly to calm her hands. Thor realized with a pang that Loki often did the same thing. “I would like nothing more than to tell you and Loki everything I know about what is coming. But there are rules, and laws, about what the dead may reveal to the living. And although Niflheim is currently without a ruler, I am still breaking its laws in order to help my sons. Eventually, someone will sit on that throne again, and when that happens, there will be a reckoning for what I have done. And I do not want that reckoning to fall upon you and Loki, and your families.”

“But... surely whoever takes the throne in Niflheim won’t be able to touch the souls in Valhalla,” said Thor, trying to sound reassuring.

“Do you think that Hela never tried to storm the golden gates? Why else do Valkyries guard the bridge that separates the two lands? The law is the law for all the dead. Those in Valhalla are trusted enough to rule over themselves. I am betraying that trust.”

“Perhaps you should vie for the throne of Niflheim.”

“To save myself the trouble of facing punishment?” Frigga shook her head. “There are already heirs to that throne in play. They are no threat to you, my son,” she added, seeing Thor go very pale. “You need not worry about fighting a war on two fronts. Leave the business of the dead to the dead. But I will tell you that the power that has overtaken the ruler of Vanaheim is no new contender. You have dealt with them before, but know this: victory will not be won with the tactics of the past.”

Thor groaned pitiably. “I hate riddles. I’ll have to put this matter to Loki’s consideration when he wakes. _If_ he wakes.”

“I’m glad you will involve your brother in this. A wise king uses all the assets at his disposal.” She smiled at her son. “And he will be rousing soon, so you and Sif should return to camp.” As her eyes moved to Sif, still asleep in the crook of Thor’s arm, her smile turned very soft. “I give you my blessing, Thor. A mother’s blessing upon your union. May you and Sif be happy, in all the years to come.”

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Thor. _Thor._ ”

Thor opened his eyes and sat up with a jerk. “I... Sif?”

Her eyes were fond and amused, with a hint of pride that made him shiver. “You’ve been asleep for hours. We need to head back, if we’re going to return in good time for the evening meal. And before Heimdall sends out a party to retrieve us.”

“Yes...” Thor rubbed his forehead lightly. Had it only been a dream? It had felt so real... But the memory of the conversation did not fade as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, and the touch of his mother’s lips on his face still tingled. “Yes, we have to get back. And soon.” He pulled her close and kissed her, cupping her cheek in his palm. “I have much to tell you, on the ride back.”

* * *

When Brun finally returned to the hospital tent, it was to a very strange sight: Councilor Freya, kneeling beside Loki’s bed, clearly upset, and Lyka kneeling beside her, speaking very softly. For a split second, Brun wondered if the Vanir had collapsed and Lyka was trying to support her... but the postures spoke to something else entirely, making every single hair on the back of Brun’s neck stand up.

Thialfi and Freya’s granddaughter Brynja were hovering nervously by the prep table, and when Thialfi saw her, he made a quick, stern motion for Brun to remain silent.

“Councilor?” asked Lyka gently, and Brun took an involuntary step back. There was _power_ in that soft voice, that had not been there before. “How did you know Loki was the son of your friend?”

“It could not be otherwise... he looks so very much like her.”

“I’ve seen images of Odin Allfather as a young man,” Lyka pressed. “I would have said that Loki looks very much like him.”

“I will not deny that,” said Freya, “though I would prefer to ignore _that_ resemblance. But the Asgardian visage that Odin gave him in his infancy came from the Allfather’s hands, not from his blood.” She held one of Loki’s limp hands in her own, and now she laid her cheek gently against it. “But I saw through the glamour of that visage when first I laid eyes upon him, and in his Jotunn form he has his mother’s cheekbones, and her eyes and hair...”

“Hair?” Lyka glanced back at Brun with a frown. “Was Loki’s mother not of the Jotnar?”

“She is a queen in Jotunheim... a hidden queen of a hidden clan.”

Brun suddenly cursed under her breath. “The markings. Loki’s clan markings. That’s why I didn't recognize them.”

“She is of the Solsetur...” Freya groaned softly and slumped to one side. “Please, no more,” she said faintly, “no more...”

“Lyka,” said Thialfi suddenly, “that’s enough.”

Lyka hesitated, but her brother moved swiftly, gathering up the Lady of Vanaheim easily and carrying her through to another tent. Brynja stooped down next to Lyka, her brown eyes wide with astonishment, and no small amount of fear. “Lyka... what did you _do_?”

“I... I don’t really know. I just felt something...” She rubbed absently at her chest, a movement which caught Brun’s attention. But it was a spot over the heart, rather than below the sternum, where Loki’s wound had been. “I don’t know.”

Brynja bit her lip. “I need to see to my grandmother.” She stood up, took a step, then turned back and helped Lyka to her feet. “And you need to rest.”

“No, wait.” Lyka turned strangely bright eyes on Brun. “What did she mean, a hidden clan? Who are the Solsetur?”

The name cast Brun back a thousand years and more. “To be honest, I always thought they were a myth. We never found any evidence of them, and believe me, the Valkyrior were sent to Jotunheim to look, more than once. Both Bor and Odin wanted them found.” _And eradicated,_ she did not say. “But there were always rumors of secret Jotnar clans, powerful... fuck.”

“What?”

“Powerful sorcerers, who were supposed to have traded the physical strength of the Frost Giants for mastery over seidr. They were said to walk between the realms with ease...”

Lyka and Brynja both went pale, and Brynja looked almost sick with panic.

“I should’ve guessed it,” Brun murmured, unable to help grinning a little at her own blindness. “I should’ve guessed that’s where he came from. Solsetur. The Dusk Walkers. The people who walk in the shadows.”

* * *

The girls were gone, Lyka to lie down and Brynja to sit with her grandmother. Brun didn’t envy them the long and seriously awkward discussion they would have to have, after they were all rested, but at that moment, she couldn’t spare much thought for another couple’s relationship dramas.

She had enough of her own to manage.

Thialfi and Eir had both been in to check on her and Loki briefly. Eir brought word that Heimdall had seen the king and Sif returning from their sojourn in the forest. Thialfi, who looked ready to drop from exhaustion, told her that he would check on the Hulk that evening, as he thought the beast might tolerate his presence well enough, and he knew she would not want to leave Loki.

Part of her did. Part of her wanted to leave the entire realm and never look back.

Instead, Brun put her head down on her arms, folded on the edge of Loki’s bed, and just tried to breathe. So much had happened, only since the night before, that she felt dizzy from lack of sleep and stress, and her lungs did not seem to be processing enough oxygen.

But she looked up when she felt a familiar ripple of power. She frowned as she watched his form shimmer and shift from Jotunn to Asgardian, uncertain of what was happening this time.

Loki groaned.

Brun shot to her feet.

He grimaced and opened his eyes and looked around in confusion for a second or two, before focusing on her.

“Hello, Lackey,” she said, voice going rough.

His lips twitched. “Lo – _ah_.”

Brun looked around quickly and then brought him water, cradling his head as he drank it.

“Thank you,” he sighed. “I assume you’ve poisoned it?”

She dropped his head unceremoniously back onto his pillow. “...It’d serve you right if I had, you asshole.” Brun laid her hand over his and pressed her lips together tightly for a second. “Is everything just a fucking joke to you?”

Loki’s expression softened. “Only the things that matter,” he husked out, turning his hand and curling his fingers into her palm.


	49. Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brun is too tired to be angry, but Thialfi is not. Loki is very, very confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I didn’t mean to take a week-plus off from this fic... But to everyone who's still here and still waiting for updates, I'm back!
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“I should get a healer,” said Brun, after a long pause, during which she and Loki had simply sat and stared at one another, each equally unwilling to look away.

“I feel fine,” Loki murmured, clasping her hand a little more tightly. “Only tired.” _Don’t leave,_ his eyes said.

She nodded, unsure of how much to trust her voice or her words. “I... you... You scared the hell out of us.”

His smile was crooked, and too abashed to be anything but real. “I was trying to avoid that. I’d hoped to be discreet.” 

“Discreet? Loki, your brother apparently found you bleeding to death in a cave, half naked and covered in salt. That is the opposite of discretion.” 

“Well, I was speaking of my hopes, not my abilities. I don’t actually know how to be discreet.” 

Brun stared and tried not to let her jaw hang open too obviously. He was still joking, still weaving jests and jibes and sincerity into a tangle she couldn’t unpick. _Only the things that matter. Right._

His fingertips stroked gently at the callused skin of her palm, and then closed firmly around her hand, pulling her closer. “I didn’t mean to frighten any of you,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “It was just... something I had to do.”

“Something you...” Brun let out a frustrated growl. “You are such a fucking little pissant, you know that?” And before he could reply, she stood up and hooked a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him hard, hard enough to make him whimper, hard enough to remind him just what she tasted like. 

Loki coughed sharply when she finally released him. “I see you’ve been keeping busy while I was away,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Heavens, that is... potent.” He licked his lips. “My dear, just how drunk are you?”

“I am exactly drunk enough, and far too tired. If I was completely in my cups, I’d be sobbing all over you. If I was sober and well-rested, I’d be expressing my feelings through my fists.”

“Well, that’s a bit harsh. I admit it wasn’t my finest moment, but—is this about your sword?” 

“Only partly, but it’s a good place to start. You got blood on it.”

“I did intend to clean it, you know. I’m not a complete heathen...” 

Before Brun could formulate a reply – which was becoming more and more difficult the more Loki acted like nothing out-of-the-ordinary had happened – a tall figure came lurching tiredly through the cloth partition. Thialfi saw them and stopped short. “Uncle!”

“Hello, my boy,” Loki said softly, with a small, almost involuntary smile. But there was no mistaking the fondness in his eyes with which he looked at his foster son. “It’s good to see you.”

Thialfi looked at Loki for a moment with an utterly unreadable expression. “How do you feel?” he said, finally.

“Tired. But otherwise fit. I...” Loki blinked and looked at his surroundings. “I am in the infirmary tent, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then why is my ridiculous four-poster bed here?”

“The king had it moved in when you were brought down from the mountain,” said Thialfi, shaking his head and coming over to scan Loki’s vitals. “He wanted you to be comfortable. And no doubt he wanted to humor your more dramatic tendencies,” the young healer added dryly.

“Where is your sister?”

Thialfi moved the hand scanner over Loki’s body. “Lay down,” he said, “I need to check your chest.”

“Thialfi. Where is Lyka?”

“She’s asleep. Which is what I’d very much prefer to be doing right now. Thor and Sif are on their way back from what was probably a very energetic session of conjugal relations, which is the complete opposite of what I prescribed for both of them – which was _sleep_ – Eir is sleeping, Freya is sleeping, Bruce is probably sleeping...”

“Well, while you’re going down the list...” Brun looked around. “Where’s your dog?”

“You have a dog now?” said Loki, in surprise. “Just how long was I out?”

“About eighteen hours.”

“That’s _all_?”

Thialfi side-eyed him. “I can always make it longer.”

“I...” Loki frowned, clearly unsettled by his son’s tone. “Sorry. I... it felt longer, to me.”

He lay back without another murmur and let Thialfi examine him with scanner, hands and eyes and whatever other tools he deemed necessary. He sat up and leaned forward to expose the section of his back where the exit wound had been, shivered when it was touched but otherwise evinced no pain, winced a little when a blood sample was taken from his arm, and then lay back against the pillows when Thialfi was finished. 

“You seem very much on the mend,” he pronounced.

“Good, get me out of here, I’ve got—” 

“No.” Thialfi’s blue eyes suddenly went dark and stern. “You’re still under observation. Eir will determine when you’re fit to leave.” His throat worked, and his big, loose-wristed hands clenched briefly, but whatever powerful emotion he was wrestling with did not show in his voice. “The king is on his way. If you will stay with the prince, Brun, I will wait for Thor outside.”

He nodded curtly to them both and turned and left the tent with a tense set to his shoulders.

“He’s angry with me,” said Loki, after a moment. The look on his face cut a swathe through her heart. 

Brun shook her head. “Lackey, we’re all angry with you.” 

“I expected _you_ to be mad, after I stole your sword, but everyone else, I... why?”

“Why? Well, let’s start with the basics. You leaving in the middle of the night with one of the few weapons we have that can kill an Asgardian.” Loki stared at her blankly. “They found you in a pool of your own blood. Your blood was on my sword.”

“You – you all thought...”

“What else were we supposed to think?

“Oh, that’s absurd. I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” Brun simply looked at him. “I wasn’t!” 

“You sent your horse back.” 

“No, I didn’t, she must’ve wandered off—” 

“You took off her bridle, stuffed it in the saddlebag, and sent her back to camp.” 

“I... have no memory of doing that.” A longer pause. “Perhaps I was rather more ill than I realized.” 

“I could’ve told you that.” 

“...Was I really so bad, when you found me?”

“I didn’t. I wasn’t with the rescue party.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the door. “But Thialfi was.”

“Shit,” Loki muttered, his eyes sliding closed briefly. “That was... not something I ever wanted him to see.”

“He’s a strong young man. A son to be proud of,” Brun added pointedly, in case he was unsure of that. “But you sent the entire camp into turmoil last night. Hell, you sent the Lady of Vanaheim into an absolute _panic_. No, I don’t know why,” she continued, when he raised his eyebrows at her, “but she rode out with Thor and Sif and Thialfi to drag your sorry bloody arse back down a mountain. Thor _carried_ you into camp, Loki. He was _cradling_ you, and you were so fucking pale, I thought you were dead.” She gripped his hand. “I can’t do this again, Loki.”

He gasped quietly and seemed to crumple.

Brun hung on. “No, I mean this, specifically. I can’t do _this_ again. Sitting next to a hospital bed waiting for you to wake up because you’ve done something stupid or dangerous or life-threatening.”

Loki made a frustrated noise. “I can’t promise to never do that again, my love.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. God of mischief and chaos and fuck-all. I’m not asking you to promise to keep yourself safe. I’d just be wasting my breath. But the next time you decide to do something stupid or dangerous or life-threatening? _Tell me_.” 

“You would have tried to stop me.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I would’ve come with you. Because I’ve been left behind too many times. We both have.” Brun’s brown eyes almost blistered his skin. “And we both deserve better.”


	50. Wisdom and Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has to face his punishment, and his responsibilities as an adoptive father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

When the king and his lady finally returned to the encampment and made their way to the infirmary, they found Thialfi sitting in the grass outside the tent with his dog, his back to the canvas and his legs stretched out, looking utterly drained. To Thor’s amusement, twisting happily over Thialfi’s long fingers was a little green-and-gold grass snake.

“What ails your dog?” Sif asked, looking down at the sad face and forepaws resting on the young man’s calf.

Thialfi’s lips quirked in a wan smile. “I suspect Eir threw him out before she went to steal a nap. He refuses to go back in.”

Thor grinned. “Eir does have that effect on people. And upon dogs, apparently.” He crouched down to scratch behind Garm’s ears, and then gestured to the small serpent. “You seem to have made a new friend.”

“Mhmm.” Thialfi held his left palm flat and let the snake slither onto his right hand. “I’ve always been fond of snakes, and they of me, it seems. This one just happened to be passing by. I suppose he wanted to say hello.” The jeweled head lifted and looked at Thor, tasting the air, and then stretched out, wanting to explore the new arrival.

“I love snakes,” said Thor, smiling as the little creature crawled over his hand and up his muscled forearm, curious about the new terrain. “When we were children, Loki would sometimes turn himself into one and ride around curled about my neck. When he was not trying to stab me, of course.” He returned the snake to Thialfi, who stroked its tiny head for a moment before letting it go free into the grass. “Speaking of stabbing, how fares your father?”

Thor wasn’t entirely sure what made him phrase his question in that way. If anything, he meant only to please the young healer, who looked worn and exhausted from his labors. But his words caused a curious chill to come over Thialfi. “The prince is out of his coma, and conscious,” he reported. “He seems quite... unaltered, by his experiences.”

“Is he resting?”

“Of course not. No one here rests when I tell them to.” Thialfi raised his hands a little and then let them fall into his lap. Garm whined appeasingly and licked his elbow. “The Valkyrie is with him.”

Thor winced; Sif raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure he’s still alive?”

“I made her promise not to beat him until he could stand, and then I ordered him to stay in bed. So there’s a good sporting chance, yes.” Thialfi reluctantly heaved himself to his feet and ordered Garm to stay where he was, and then led Thor and Sif inside, where Loki and Brun both looked up at the new arrivals. “See? Still alive.”

“Hey, I promised I wouldn’t kill him.”

“And a Valkyrie is a woman of her word,” Loki said dryly, though no one missed the tight grip he had on her hand. “Which normally I would classify as naïve, but as it’s worked out entirely in my favor...”

There was a collective glare from all assembled.

“I am both relieved and irritated to see that you’re back to normal,” said Sif, rolling her eyes.

Thor, however, was clearly less pleased.

“Out,” he growled to them all. His good eye glared at Loki ominously. “I would speak to my brother... alone.”

Loki gulped.

* * *

Brun and Sif took their leave at once, striding from the tent together, but Thialfi, with a wistful thought for his bed, turned and headed into the central tent, which Eir and the other two healers used as a conference room and rest area. Eir was currently asleep on a pallet in the corner, as was Hnoss. The other healer, Vala, was making rounds through the camp, and of course Bruce was currently embodied by an enormous green toddler, so it was left to Thialfi to tend to their handful of patients.

Thankfully, none were very complicated cases: a stone mason with a broken leg who would be on his feet again in a day or so, a woman being treated for a mild stomach ailment, and two small children who had picked up a bit of a cough. He smiled at them all, soothed their fears, made notes in their files, and left the actual work of diagnosing and prescribing for someone with more access to higher brain function than he possessed at that moment.

Then he had a glass of water and an apple, and went to check on his sister, and on Councilor Freya.

They were still deeply asleep, with Brynja keeping anxious watch over both of them.

“The prince is awake,” Thialfi murmured to her, in between scanning both unconscious women. “The king is with him now.”

“Is he well?”

“He’s better off than he has any right to be, after what he’s been through.” Thialfi frowned as the scanner passed over his sister.

“Thialfi? You saw what Lyka did to my grandmother.”

“I did. But I don’t know _what_ she did, if that’s what you’re about to ask. She’s never done anything of the kind before.” A long-buried memory needled at his brain, of Lyka as a child speaking sweetly to a servant and making the woman do her bidding, but he shoved it away. “We’re not adept at seidr.”

Brynja frowned. “But you are Loki’s children. How could you be otherwise?”

“He didn’t sire us. We... absorbed some of his powers, while we were in the womb, but we have no access to it.” And he pocketed the scanner hurriedly.

* * *

“I didn’t try to kill myself,” said Loki, scooting back against the headboard as Thor loomed over him. “Brun told me you all thought – I know, I realize now, I wasn’t in my right mind, entirely, but I swear, brother, I was not—”

“Then what were you doing?” the king demanded. “What dark magic did you call upon that actually caused our mother’s spirit to leave Valhalla and come to me and to your son to tell us that we needed to find you?”

Loki’s eyes widened. “So she did come to you... she said she was going to. Did she tell you...?”

“She told me... much.” Thor drew up a chair and sat down beside Loki’s bed, apparently willing – for the moment – to put aside his fraternal anger in order to share what vital stories their mother had brought to them from the other side. “What did she tell you?”

In low measured tones, Loki told him almost everything. The knowledge of the Haraldsborns was not for the king’s ears, at least not yet. He would tell his children first, and then Thor. After all, it might prove necessary to give them time to flee. But he revealed to Thor the whole truth of his own parentage and how he had come to be in Asgard, and how and why their sister had come to be forgotten by history, and that his long-gone estranged wife has actually known about his heritage, and perhaps most importantly to Thor, that there were crown’s eyes among the surviving Asgardians, and that they would likely contact him soon.

But he said nothing of Odin. Not yet. The downturn of Thor’s mouth and the dark, tired look that came into his eye made him think better of revealing that part of the story at present.

When he was finished, it was Thor’s turn, and Loki listened in growing horror to the story of Hela’s mother, of Thor’s own birth years before their parents’ marriage, of the mysterious adversary that seemed to now dwell in the depths of the Vanir court, and of the power vacuum that Hela’s destruction at Surtr’s hands had left in Niflheim.

At last, Thor fell silent, and waited for Loki’s reaction.

“That is... rather a lot to take in.”

“Yes,” Thor agreed. “Yes, it is.” He had taken something from his belt pouch and was rubbing it between the fingers of one hand, something thin and flexible that was so nearly engulfed by his fist that Loki couldn’t quite see what it was. “And I’ve had to try and make it all make sense while at the same time waiting for my brother to once again live or die.”

“Oh, well, my apologies for _inconveniencing_ you again, Your Majesty,” Loki snapped. “Perhaps I should have just let the fogs of Niflheim take me after all. That way you wouldn’t have had to multitask. I know it’s a challenge for you, to have to hold two thoughts in your head at once.”

“Damn you,” Thor snarled.

Loki bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Too late.”

“Too late for what? For you to fix the utter mess that you’ve made of your life? I begin to believe so. Loki, what did you _do_? If you did not go to that place with the intent to make away with yourself—”

“Of course I didn’t! Use your brain, Thor: as dire as our situation right now is, this is still somehow the best my life has been in years. Why would I throw that all away?”

“I don’t know, brother.”

That brought Loki up short. “Well, I...”

“You were hiding a potentially-fatal injury from all of us, for weeks. You stole Valkyrie’s sword, you stole Councilor Freya’s horse, you rode miles away from camp and you climbed a sheer cliff to get into a cave no bigger than a bathroom. And then my mother’s ghost came to me and told me to go after you, and I found you in that cave in a pool of your own blood.” Thor leaned forward and took Loki by the side of the neck. “Tell me what happened.”

Loki went silent for a moment or two, his jaw taut and his eyes hooded. “...Do you remember when Father had me flogged before the court?” he asked finally.

Thor drew back in horror. “Loki, you didn’t.”

“I had to do something, Thor. The negotiations with the Vanir were going nowhere. It was obvious that whatever Freya knew, she was willing to hold over our heads until I agreed to her terms – did you sign the draft agreement?”

“Loki—”

“Did you sign it?”

“No, there hasn’t been time.”

“Good,” said Loki sharply. “Don’t. Not until we know for certain what’s happening in Sessrumnir—”

“Stop changing the subject!” Thor exploded, slamming his fist down on the side of Loki’s mattress. The force of it knocked Loki back against the headboard of his bed. “Father had you whipped in front of the entire court for intruding upon him during the working of dangerous magic. For spying on him while he traveled bodily to the land of the dead. Is that what you did? To find answers to all of these questions about our history, to counter Freya in trade negotiations?”

“Thor, if I could travel bodily into Niflheim, do you think I would’ve needed the dragonfang?” Loki glared at him in disgust. “Odin would never have trusted _me_ with the full knowledge of such a spell, even before I spied on him, so I had to find my own way. To find a way to put myself on the very knife’s edge between life and death. And luckily for me, I was already halfway there. The Valkyrie’s sword was the only Asgardian blade I could lay my hands on.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably and looked anywhere except at Thor’s face, as his brother began to comprehend exactly what he had done. “It was a convenience.”

“...A convenience? For _trade negotiations?_ ”

“For the sake of our people! If we’re ever to get to Midgard, we need supplies and...” Loki trailed off as Thor’s entire massive body began first to tremble, and then to shake. _Oh, shit..._ He’d done it, he’d finally pushed Thor past his breaking point. His eyes darted around the tent, looking for escape routes or possible weapons, but his legs felt like bread dough and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get very far. A memory of that long-ago flogging flashed through his mind and he broke out into a cold sweat and braced himself for a furious outburst...

Thor dropped his head into his hand, and began to cry.

_Oh, **shit**._

“Thor... Thor, for heaven’s sake, stop. I’m all right—”

“No! No, you shut up, just... shut up. Three times, Loki! Three times, I had to watch you _die_.”

“Technically, I—”

“Three fucking times you’ve done this to me now, and twice I’ve mourned you, and you either didn’t care or didn’t believe me, so this time you’re just going to have to watch me cry.” Thor dragged his forearm across his face, as the tears continued to stream from his eye and from beneath his eye patch, and Loki saw that what he held in his hand was a small thin blond braid, with a streak of black twisted through it. And it took him a second or two of staring blankly while Thor cried to place it.

It was Thor’s hair. It was the braid that he had sported the last time Loki saw him, before Sakaar. At the time, he had assumed the hair was Jane Foster’s, and that his soft-hearted brother was carrying around this token as a memento of his mortal. But now that Loki saw it clearly, he realized... it was far too dark to be Jane’s.

“Perhaps this time you will believe that people care about your life.”

Loki paled. He swallowed hard and leaned forward, and for a moment, looked as though he was about to touch Thor’s arm. Then he drew back. “Brother,” he said quietly. “Please. Dry your tears. I’m all right. I am.”

“Loki, there was no possible way you could have known that you would come back from that spell alive. Even if you had been in your right mind, which you absolutely were not: what the hell were you _thinking_?”

“...Do you seriously want to know?”

“Yes!”

“I just assumed that if I died, you’d all do perfectly fine without me.”

“You _what_?”

“You asked.”

“In what universe does that possibly make sense? Do you truly believe we think so little of you? Or do you simply think so little of yourself?” Loki averted his eyes. “So that’s it. You think you can just waltz into the realm of the dead and maybe not come back, and no one will care because it’s _you_.”

“I died twice already, and you all carried on. I presided over my own memorial ceremony, after the Dark Elf attack. I know perfectly well how you all behaved.”

“In public, we behaved as warriors. But ‘carried on’? Loki, we _mourned_ for you. Whatever your crimes, whatever madness you suffered, you never stopped being a prince of Asgard and a friend to many. And _my brother_.”

“Oh yes. That. As if you’d ever let me forget.”

“Would you prefer I forgot? Is that what you want? You’d rather I’d left you in that cave to die?”

“I was fine by the time you found me.”

“Let’s talk about _before_ I found you. Why don’t we go back to the part where you thought it would be a good idea to steal the legendary sword of the Valkyries and stab yourself through an already-infected _impalement injury_?”

“I had questions that needed answers, and I wasn’t going to get them from anyone living. And it worked, didn’t it?”

“You _stabbed. Yourself!_ ”

“It was a perfectly good plan! ...All right, it was a _plan_ but in retrospect, perhaps not a _good_ one.”

“But why didn’t you _tell_ anyone?”

“Would any of you really have left me go up there, if I’d said was I going to put myself on the edge of death in order to go talk to our mother’s ghost?”

“I – of course I would.”

Loki grinned broadly, but the expression did not reach his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

“...All right. If you had come to me with such a plan, I do not know what I would have said, or done.”

“You see?”

“Not at first,” Thor continued, stubbornly ignoring Loki’s smug look. “I would have said that it was a foolish risk, and that it smacked of desperation. But we are desperate, Loki. We are without a home and, thanks to Father’s devotion to secrecy, we are practically without a history. And if you had come to me and said, ‘I can find answers, I can get information that will help us all, but I must journey to Niflheim to get it,’ I would not have liked your plan... but I know you, Loki. I would have known that you would do this thing whether I sanctioned it or not. And I would have gone with you on this quest. I would not have let you face this danger alone.”

He glanced up at Loki and saw his face. He was utterly dumbfounded, and looked very young and almost... frightened. “I am accustomed to going it alone. To doing the things that I see need to be done, and doing them by myself because no one else will take me seriously. It’s a terrifying experience, to be taken seriously. Particularly by you. I’m still not entirely sure how to react.”

“I have not always been the brother you needed,” said Thor. “I know that.” Loki’s lips twitched and his eyes flickered down, showing that he knew that, likewise, he had not always been the brother that Thor needed. “But I have never desired you hurt or harm. You have enraged me beyond measure, and caused me much sorrow and grief, but I have always loved you.”

Loki’s smile this time was almost imperceptible, and all the warmer for that. “Brother, in all our battles, I have never once doubted your love for me. Many times, it would have been far easier if I could have. I’ve questioned the wisdom of that love repeatedly, but never the sentiment.”

Thor’s eye filled with tears again, and Loki could only muster a small complaint when he grabbed him and half-hauled him from the bed for an enormous hug. “Get off me,” he said mildly. “Oaf.”

“No,” Thor muttered, and squeezed a little tighter.

Loki sighed. “Is this my punishment for running off and doing something stupid? Instead of electrocuting me, you’re going to cry and hug me?”

“Yes. And next time, I will do it in public.”

“ _No._ ”

“Yes. You’ll never run off on your own again.”

“You are a devious madman.”

“Coming from you, brother, that is a compliment of high worth.” Thor pressed a brief kiss to Loki’s forehead and released him.

“I mean it. Hug me in public and I will stab you,” Loki warned, his eyes warm and twinkling, as Brun walked back into the tent with a pile of clothing, just in time to hear his final words.

“I don’t know why you ever decided you two weren’t brothers, Lackey,” she said, rolling her eyes and throwing the shirt and breeches at his head. “Adopted or not, you couldn’t be more related.”

“What are these for? Thialfi said I couldn’t leave yet.”

“I just thought maybe you’d want to not be naked when the kids come in to see you. Oh, not your kids,” Brun continued, when Loki started to reply. “I mean the camp kids. You know. The ones you spent all your free time and energy making little dragon-puppy illusions for.” Out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw Thialfi, who had emerged from the center tent, grinning slightly.

Thor blinked at his brother. “You were doing what?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Loki said, squirming a bit. “You saw me doing tricks for them.”

“Tricks, yes, but illusory pets? You were in no condition...” But Thor stopped himself. “I can’t even be upset about that. It was a kindness. So they all want to see him, do they?”

“Every last one of them. They snuck up on me earlier, and your ward, Alaric, he could barely keep from crying, he was so worried.”

Loki squirmed more and tried to hide his discomfort by pulling the shirt on over his face. Thialfi sighed and went to help him dress.

“Speaking of Alaric – Thor, look, I’m not the most kid-friendly person, but you’ve got to spend more time with that kid.”

Thor frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“He did,” said Brun. “He specifically asked me to ask you if he could visit Loki, instead of asking you himself, because he doesn’t want to be a bother.”

“Oh...” Thor rose, looking very uncomfortable. “He’s no bother, truly, I – we went riding together yesterday! Thialfi came with us!”

“I did,” Thialfi confirmed, giving Loki a shoulder to lean on while he struggled into his breeches. “But you were extremely preoccupied and barely spoke two words the entire time.”

“Oh, come on, Thor,” Loki chided. “Even at his busiest, Odin managed to spend an hour a day with us. Granted, he wasn’t dealing with a refugee crisis, but _still_.”

Brun suddenly leveled a look at Loki that made him fall instantly silent. “You,” she said bluntly, “have no room to criticize. Talk to your son.”

“I... sorry?”

“Brun,” Thialfi started, “there’s no need—”

“Oh no.” Brun grabbed Thor by the arm and hauled him towards the door. “I tried parenting once and I blew it, but I know better than to leave something like this alone. Talk to your father. And you,” she added, throwing Loki a stern glance, “talk to your son.”

Loki blinked. “Yes, my lady,” he said, rather bemused, as she left, forcibly taking his brother with him. Sitting up slowly, he swung his now-clothed legs over the side of the bed. Thialfi steadied him while the momentary dizziness subsided. “Thank you. So. Our resident Valkyrie seems to think you and I have something to discuss.”

Thialfi was not the fidgeting type, but Loki had the distinct impression that if he _had_ been that type of person, he would have been pacing frantically enough to wear a path through the ground cloth. The boy was nervous.

“She shouldn’t have said anything,” he said finally. “What I said – I was upset, I was tired – I _am_ tired. I have not slept in nearly twenty-four hours. This can wait, surely—”

“My son.”

The low, gentle admonition surprised them both. It took Loki an embarrassingly long moment to realize that it was he who had spoken, unconsciously echoing Frigga's tone when she wanted to calm him. He swallowed hard once or twice and then continued. “I realize that the past day has been... stressful, for all of you, and that I am very much to blame for that.” The vocabulary of remorse felt awkward and sour in his mouth, but if he had to apologize to anyone, it needed to be to the young man he had claimed as his son. To do what Odin had never done for him, and admit... that he had been wrong. “Whatever I have said or done to upset you—”

“Apart from almost dying in a cave?”

“...Apart from that, yes. Whatever it may be... tell me.” He held out his hand. “Please.”

For a second, Thialfi looked about to cry. Then he rallied what little energy he had left and mastered his emotions, and sat down on the bed beside Loki. “I told Brun... that I do not truly know you, or how you think of me. You knew Lyka better than me, when we were children. You once thought she might have been your child. She was named for you.” He bit his lip. “What am I, compared to that?”

Loki was distraught. “Thialfi. That is—”

“And since we’ve been here? You’ve been very attentive to my needs, you got me this apprenticeship, but how much time have we actually spent together?” Thialfi spoke quietly, too exhausted to be visibly upset, but there were tears slipping down his cheeks. “And I know, I know the circumstances have been less than ideal, and with everything that’s happening, this is the last thing that should be on my mind, but...” He sighed and wiped away his tears. “Forgive me. This is all so... stupid.”

“No,” said Loki, gripping the boy’s slim shoulder. “It is not. I know what it feels like, to think yourself... an afterthought. I’m sorry. I... I’m sorry.”

“It’s not even that, it’s... how can you stand to look at me? When I look so much like my father? If I had loved and lost someone, I—”

“Thialfi.” Loki ran his fingers gently through Thialfi’s soft brown curls. “Your father was the first man I ever loved. And before that, he was my friend. That he left such an impression of himself on the universe before he died... I can’t begin to express how grateful I am that you exist.” And he smiled, remembering. “And you need never fear that I care for you less than your sister. You have a claim on my heart and mind that not even Lyka can boast of.”

Thialfi frowned. “What could there possibly be?”

“Harald was away from home, the day you were born. I had slipped away from the palace to stay with Gudrun and Lyka for a few days before the child came. And... you came early.”

“...I did?”

“Mhmm. Two weeks. And you came quickly. Before the healers could get to the house, in fact, so there was no one else to be the midwife.” Now it was Loki's cheeks that were wet with tears, but he was smiling. “I held you in my hands before your own mother did. Gave you your first bath...” He brushed his fingers over Thialfi’s forehead. “Your first kiss on the head.” He warmed at Thialfi’s shy smile, and heartened by that, he told the rest. “And, you know, I don’t believe anyone else knows this. Your sister was too young, and I don’t think we ever got around to telling your father. At least, I didn’t. Gudrun may have, after I left them alone with you...”

“Tell him what?”

Loki smiled crookedly. “After you were born, your mother was exhausted and in pain. She needed sleep. But you still needed to eat, so...” He tensed a little under Thialfi’s sudden low gasp of comprehension. “It was always very easy, to be a woman around your mother. I spent most of that week as a woman, actually. And really, in the company of a woman so near to her time, there’s so much estrogen floating about... well, it wasn’t difficult to stimulate those hormones in myself.”

“You... nursed me?”

There was wonder in Thialfi’s voice, and a wistful sort of hope that made the muscles of Loki’s chest tighten in a way he hadn’t felt in years. It was all so solemn that his first impulse was to make some vulgar joke... but he couldn’t.

“I did. It was something I’d never done before and something I never had the opportunity to do again. And it... you... And when your mother sent me away... I did my best to forget about you. You and your sister and your parents and everything that had mattered to me for so long. And then I married Sigyn, and I kept trying to forget. And then she left, and I kept working very hard to forget. Even when I was king... I never let myself think about you for more than a few minutes at a time...”

“So you _did_ think about us.”

“Of course I did,” said Loki sharply. “Despite all my hard work trying, I _never_ forgot about you. But it... hurt, to think of you. And the thought of facing your mother, after the things she said...” He shook his head and ruffled Thialfi’s hair a final time. _At least now I know why she felt she had to drive me away... If only I had known at the time..._ “But it doesn’t hurt now. And you and your sister are both in my thoughts, and in my heart. Equally,” he added, very firmly, remembering how many times Odin had told him the same thing, and the countless small ways he had proved the exact opposite. “For the hurt I have caused you, I am sorry. I can only say that... being a father is as strange and new to me as having a father is to you.”

“I... hadn’t quite thought of it that way.”

“What I did, I did because I thought it was necessary. But I should have warned you all.”

After a moment, Thialfi nodded slightly, and Loki took it as acceptance. “It’s been...” He let out a soft sound. “It’s been a hell of a day, Uncle. Between you and Lyka, I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so... alone.”

Loki frowned. “What’s happened to Lyka?”

“She spent last night with the Lady of Vanahaim’s granddaughter.”

“...Well, that was quick...”

“They’re falling in love.”

“... _Very_ quick.”

Thialfi looked uncertain. “You’re not going to tell me that doesn’t happen overnight?”

“My boy, I am an accomplished liar, but a hypocrite, I am not. I fell in love with your mother at first sight. So I cannot cast aspersions on your sister for this... or take it for granted.”

“What do you mean?”

Loki gripped Thialfi’s shoulder tightly for a moment, searching his face. “I need you to do something for me,” he said at last. “Go get Thor, and bring him here. Bring Thor’s entire council. Sif, Brun, Heimdall, Bruce. I need them here. Also Freya, and you sister, and her lover. All of them.”

“Uncle...”

“Go, please. Quickly.”

It was the quiet command of a prince, and Thialfi had been raised at the behest of a queen. He went.

When Loki was alone, he pressed his fingertips to his forehead, hard, over his eyes. “I didn’t think I’d have to do this quite so soon,” he murmured. And then, “I need a drink.” Easing himself out of his bed, he walked carefully to the healers’ prep table, and poured himself a full glass.

It was only water, but it satisfied the impulse.


	51. Dynastic Entanglements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki reveals a long-hidden secret of the royal family of Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to spend tomorrow packing, moving, and unpacking, so I'll see you Monday!
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki looked over the assembly, stared for a very long time at the dog who had followed Thialfi back into the tent, and then looked around again and frowned. “Where’s Bruce?”

Thialfi and Brun both grimaced. “Indisposed,” said Brun simply. 

“...Ah. That... shouldn’t be possible.” Loki frowned and looked distant for a moment, and then shook his head, making a mental note to deal with that problem later. 

“I would ask you all to remember,” he said quietly, “that Lyka and Thialfi Haraldsborn are wards of the crown, and as such, they are under the king’s protection.” He spoke to the room, but his eyes fixed on Brun with such intensity that she looked almost insulted.

“...Loki, I’m not going to hurt your kids.”

“For the purposes of this conversation – and _only_ this conversation – they are not mine, and that’s the whole crux of the matter. But they are still under Thor’s protection, and mine.”

Brun eyed him with confusion and no small amount of worry at what he might be about to say. “I understand, your highness.”

“Thank you, my love.” 

And then they both blinked, realizing it was the first time either of them had said that word in public. To Loki’s eternal relief, no one said a word. 

"I asked you all here because, in one way or another, you've all shown me that you can be trusted. I'm sure you'll all appreciate how unusual that is. All of you, that is, except Councilor Freya. I don't trust you in the slightest.”

She smiled wanly. “Nor I you, your highness.”

“But I have specific personal reasons for including you here."

"Which are?"

"Personal," said Loki, with quiet warning. "But also because I wanted Brynja here, for my daughter's sake, and it's simply easier on her for you to be present than to expect her to keep such a secret from you. I dislike family secrets," he added, unnecessarily. “I had hoped to tell Lyka and Thialfi these things in private, and let them decide who to tell, but circumstances dictate otherwise.” He turned to the Haraldsborns. “I’m sorry.”

He glanced from face to face, noting Brun's tense annoyance and Sif's well-hidden perplexity, and Heimdall's habitual calm doing nothing to mask the concern in his gold eyes, and the way Lyka took both Brynja and Thialfi's hands and held them. "Go on, Uncle," she said.

Loki licked his lips. "Some of those present will no doubt recall the occasion roughly three hundred years ago, when the Allfather had cause to bring me before the court for a public whipping. My crime was declared, technically, as espionage. What I had actually done was use a scrying spell to observe Odin in his private chambers while he was using his own power to enter bodily into Niflheim. 

"At the time, I assumed that the reason for the harsh and humiliating public punishment was because I had trespassed upon the king's private domain, and that he was growing fearful of my own burgeoning skills."

"I remember," said Sif. "We were all astonished that Odin would do such a thing, and after you had risked life and limb saving our troops in the war against Anodos. But you did not dispute the crime... After that day was when you began to change. You became more withdrawn, more secretive."

"I think if you'll examine your memories more closely, Lady Sif, you will see that it was you, and the rest of my brother's friends, that began to withdrawn from _me_ , after that. But no matter. I was more embarrassed by the incident, than anything else. I had been foolish enough to get caught, so I felt I deserved punishment, and if Father wanted to show me how much disdain he had for me, he could not have chosen a better way—" Loki suddenly choked on his words. 

Thor clasped his brother's shoulder, as Loki collected himself. 

"I _thought_ he was afraid of me becoming more powerful than he. But it was not the spell that Father was trying to hide from me."

"Hela," Thor realized. "He didn't want you to follow him and learn about Hela. He was trying to protect you."

"In the worst way possible, as was Odin's wont. But now Hela is gone, so when I decided that it would be a brilliant idea to try going to Niflheim myself, to find some answers from the only people who could still give them, I thought I had nothing to worry about. Relatively," he added, refusing to cringe under the collective glares of all assembled. "And true enough, I did not encounter my sister. But there were others..."

"Who were you there to find?" Freya demanded. 

"My mother." Loki smiled at her and the temperature in the tent dropped a degree or two. "And I have you to thank for that, Councilor. If you hadn't tried baiting me with information about my birth mother and my estranged wife, I don't think I would have gotten anywhere near this desperate--"

"Loki," Thor chided, "now is not the time."

"...No. No, the king is correct. I did go to speak to my mother in Niflheim about the things the Lady of Vanaheim had hinted about, but in the end, those things seemed pointless. Frigga had far more important things to tell me."

"To tell us," said Thor. "Since Loki's return, she has spoken to me as well."

"And to Thialfi." Loki gestured to his son, who looked surprised. "She gave you back the dog."

Thialfi looked down at Garm with a frown. "You mean, she brought a toy to life, the way I did as a child?"

"Not exactly." Loki's voice was very gentle, so much so that the people who had known him as a child felt a wave of remembrance for the boy he had been. "Garm was your father's dog. He died a year or two before Lyka was born, but Harald always insisted he could feel the dog's spirit, lingering about." Loki snapped his fingers and the dog immediately got up and went to him, his tail wagging eagerly. "Yes, I thought you would remember me... You went everywhere with your master, didn't you, boy?" he murmured. "And then when his children came along, you couldn't leave, could you? No, I don't blame you one bit."

Garm licked Loki's hand adoringly. Loki wiped his hand on the blankets with fastidious dismay. "Thialfi. You told me that as a boy, you had a stuffed dog that you could make come to life."

"Well, yes, but..."

"We were children," Lyka said, shaking her head. "It was just make-believe!"

"Are you sure?" Loki pressed. He slipped off the bed and knelt before his daughter, looking up at her. "Did you two have the toy dog first? Or did the toy only appear after the real dog, who Thialfi could call as he pleased, vanished?"

The Haraldsborns looked fearfully from him to the dog and back to Loki. "We used to joke that we had magic," Lyka said softly. "And then the queen took that away..." She gripped her brother's hand fiercely. "But... why?"

Loki opened his mouth to speak, and then shook his head. In one fluid move, he rose to his feet and began to pace slowly back and forth. 

"When I was young and in love with your mother and father, and Odin sent them away, I thought it was because of me. I thought it was my father being determined to rein in my behavior to his exacting standards. But I find now... this was not so. I was separated from Gudrun specifically, and spells placed upon me to restrict my ability to father children, because Odin wished to avoid a drastic dynastic entanglement. He had no wish for me to have children with Gudrun... because she was of his blood."

Lyka's eyes widened in shock, while Thialfi went as white as bleached bone. "No, that's... that's not possible."

"So she was Odin's bastard?" said Brun bluntly. "I always said the Borsons were too chaste to be true."

Loki shot her a glare. "She was Odin's kin, but not his child. Her father was an Asgardian diplomat attached to the court of King Darrath, the last king of Ljosalfheim – Rolf, was his name, Rolf Harrson. And this man Rolf fell in love with a woman in the king's household."

"I knew that our grandmother was a Light Elf," said Lyka slowly. "Mother told me once that she came to Asgard because she had been born with some kind of deformity, and was not beautiful enough to stand living among Light Elves. But I never knew what ailed her."

"She came to Asgard because she was in fear of her life," Loki replied quietly, "and the life of her unborn child. Your grandmother – Ambri, she was called, was one of a pair of twins born to Darrath in his youth, when he was a wayward prince and much favored among the women of the Nine Realms. He took the fancy of Ambri's mother, for a time, and when she tired of him, she left her children with him." Loki walked towards the healer's prep table, with his back to everyone, rubbing his thumb against his palm. "Gudrun was not Odin's child. She was his great-grandchild. Ambri and her twin brother were the children of Hela."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those having trouble keeping track:
> 
> Odin > Hela > Ambri > Gudrun > Lyka & Thialfi


	52. Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together, Loki and Thor piece together the last bits of their family puzzle, and the truth is not what any of them wanted to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting - moving is taking up most of my free time right now, and to boot, this chapter has a **lot** going on and I needed an extra couple of days to get things just right. Also I know I still have some comments to respond to! I will get to them soon, I promise!
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

As the stunned gasps and oaths hit his ears, Loki cursed himself for being a coward. He should have been able to look his children in the eye as he told them the truth. 

“...I need a minute,” Brun said, and walked past him in a hurry. Outside the tent, he heard her stop, stride a few paces away, and then hit something. Whatever it was, it broke, and Loki winced. _I’m sorry, my love..._

He should have been strong enough...

 _“Am I cursed?”_

_“No.”_

_“What am I?”_

_“You’re my son.”_

_“I want more than **that**.”_

The image of Odin’s face, tired beyond all reckoning, pushed past his limits, being forced to reveal the unpalatable reality of his second son’s origins at the worst possible moment, was burned into Loki’s brain. 

_“You took me for a purpose. What was it?”_

He would never forget the expression on the Allfather’s face... He didn’t want to imagine what his own had looked like...

_**“Tell me!”** _

...let alone what Lyka and Thialfi’s faces would look like. 

_I can’t do this..._

He pressed shaking fingers to his eyelids. His head felt somewhat unattached to his body. In fact, his entire body felt as though it was unmoored to reality, a sensation that Loki was all-too-uncomfortably familiar with. 

_This was a mistake. I am not recovered from my journey to Niflheim. I am not any kind of father, let alone what my lovers’ children deserve. I’ve revealed their heritage to people who would gladly kill them._

Outside, he heard Brun pacing in the grass, muttering and cursing under her breath. He hadn’t seriously thought she would deliberately harm them, but he’d needed to warn her. He knew warriors; they reacted instinctively, sometimes without thinking, and lashed out.

_This was a bad idea._

Behind him, Freya was swearing in Vanii

_I can’t do this. I can’t **do** this._

But he had to. He had gotten himself into this mess, as always, and he was nothing if not resourceful. He would get himself out. 

The trick would be getting his children out along with him.

He steeled himself by taking a few deep breaths (more oxygen than he was used to getting, since Svartalfheim; it made him even more light-headed) and turned to face the court, such as it was. 

Lyka was looking at him with enormous eyes, clearly too shocked to move or to speak. Brynja’s hand was still tightly clasped in hers, in spite of Freya’s attempts to pull her granddaughter away – indeed, Brynja was shooting the Lady of Vanaheim a look that could have curdled milk, and improving Loki’s opinion of her by leaps and bounds. 

Sif and Heimdall held themselves in tense postures that Loki well recognized, the stance of people who had started to reach for their weapons instinctively, muscle memory reacting to deep wounding startlement, and then thought better of it. 

Thialfi was hunched over in his chair, almost in a fetal position, with his arms wrapped around his stomach. He had gone pale, and was trembling. 

Thor laid a hand on his shoulder, and the boy flinched visibly. “Brother,” Thor said, gently admonishing. “Your son needs you.”

Loki bit back a whimper. He sounded like Frigga. 

He went and crouched before his children, sparing a grateful glance at Brynja. “Thialfi—”

“You had no _right_!” his son snapped, so angered that his voice shook. “We were driven from the city, we watched people we had known for years cut down in their blood, by that... that _monster_ , and now you tell us that we are her spawn? In front of everyone—!”

“This is not ‘everyone’,” Loki replied firmly, hearing the betrayal in Thialfi’s words and feeling a sense of responsibility and resolve that made his stomach churn. “This is your family. These are the people who will protect you.”

“I object to being included in that statement.” 

Loki rolled his eyes but did not bother looking away from his children to address Freya. “You were willing enough to accept me as family on the basis of a birth mother I’ve never known. And notice me making no objections to your granddaughter courting Lyka. Accept the compliment for what it is, Councilor.”

“It is emotional blackmail and I—” 

“Enough,” said Lyka softly. 

To Loki’s surprise, the Lady of Vanaheim fell silent, and he saw something more fundamental than mere fear pass over her austere face. _Well, that’s interesting..._ “If we need to stop this, Lyka—”

“No.” Lyka squeezed Brynja’s hand gratefully, then put an arm around her younger brother’s shoulders and whispered something into his ear. What it was, not even Loki could hear, but it seemed to calm him, because he nodded and sat up, and tried to smile at her. Then she looked at Loki. “No, you have begun this, and as distasteful as it is, we have to finish it. Tell us _everything_ , Uncle. We need to hear it. How much did Mother know? How much did Odin know?”

Loki moistened his lips absently. “Gudrun, I believe, knew very little. Only that her mother was of the Ljosalfar and that her father died before she was born. Explaining that she was of Odin’s get would have entailed telling her about Hela.”

“Which was effectively impossible,” Thor pointed out. “After her defeat, Odin cast a spell over all of the Nine Realms to lock away any knowledge of her. Literally _no one_ was allowed to speak of her, save Odin himself.”

Lyka took a moment to absorb this. “So she would have known nothing of either of her royal bloodlines.”

“Well... any of them. There were three,” Thor clarified, and grimly told the short story of Hela’s mother.

Thialfi looked like he was about to be ill. Loki touched Lyka’s face gently, then turned to Thialfi and took his face in his hands. “I did not know, either, before my journey to the other side. If I had known before this, I would have told you everything.”

"Would it have made a difference?" said Thialfi, his soft voice bitter and his face wet with tears. "If you had known a week ago? If you had known when I was a baby?"

_“You have a claim on my heart and mind that not even Lyka can boast of...”_

_“You nursed me...”_

_“I **never** forgot about you...”_

“Not one bit of difference,” said Loki, rising up to press a kiss to Thialfi’s forehead. “None at all.”

He stood and started his compulsive pacing once more. The dog Garm went to his young master, who seemed more than a little unnerved by him, now that he knew where the dog had come from. Lyka stroked the rangy hound’s gray head softly. “Is this why Frigga was so determined to care for us? Because we are of all these royal bloodlines? Or simply because we are of Odin’s blood?”

“Both, in parts,” Loki said, after a moment. Thor made a strangled noise in his throat, and Loki glanced at him apologetically. “Brother, I—” 

“After everything we’ve been through and all you kept from me—” 

“For my children’s safety!”

“You couldn’t have at least told me that I still have blood family yet living?”

Loki stiffened. 

_“He did tell you of my true parentage, did he not?”_

“To be brutally honest, Thor, it didn’t occur to me. I don’t know what it’s like to have _blood_ family.” Despite his focus on Thor, out of the periphery of his vision, Loki distinctly saw Brynja’s eyes flick towards her grandmother. “But... yes, they are your biological relations. Your great-great-great niece and nephew, actually.” 

“My...” Thor blinked very rapidly, and Sif moved to stand behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder. He reached back and gripped her fingers. “Now you _have_ to call me Uncle!” he said joyously to the siblings. And then he recalled the topic at hand and immediately recanted. “I mean, you don’t have to. No pressure. But it would be far less awkward now.” 

Lyka managed to smile at him. Thialfi was in no mood. “Can we get back to the point, please?” he ground out. “If our mother was the daughter of the Light Elf king’s distaff child, why then was she born in Asgard? What did Ambri fear?”

“Her brother,” said Loki grimly. “In his youth as prince, Darrath was as beautiful as summer, winning and fair, and for a time he entertained the goddess of death in her bed. When she dismissed him, it was with this pair of bastard twins: a boy as white as bone and a girl, Ambri, who looked as though she was half-corpse.”

Lyka paled. “Mama only ever spoke of her mother in the most reverent of tones,” she murmured, “and she never described her mother’s deformity, only that it made her unfit to be seen in Ljosalfheim...”

“She was largely hidden away by her father, though in hindsight, one wonders if it was for the same reason the two of you were hidden away. The brother was handsome and well-made, but cruel, and loved no one but his sister.” Loki hesitated. “Perhaps a little too well. Which was why Ambri fled her own realm, and sought the protection of the queen. Gudrun was born in my mother’s hall of Fensallir, far away from the capital.”

“Wait, the sulking hall?” said Thor, in considerable surprise. Then he explained, for the benefit of those who had not grown up in the royal court, “We called it that because that’s where Mother went whenever she and Father had an argument.” 

Freya raised an eyebrow. “Did that happen often?”

Thor grimaced. “More often than I like to admit. When we were small, she used to pack us both off for a month or two, but as we got older, she usually only took Loki...”

“Probably because I was always the one they were arguing about. And she didn’t go there to _sulk_ , Thor, she went there to give Odin time to think up a decent apology. Sometimes it took him a while. Now for heaven’s sake, stop interrupting me with trivialities.” Loki rubbed his temples fitfully. “I’m having enough trouble keeping this story from veering off into tangents as it is.”

“You Odinsons claim to have been given this information by the spirit of your mother? Well then.” Freya leaned back in her chair. “Why did she not give either of you the entire story? Why tell you this woeful tale in pieces?”

“Perhaps she wanted to make sure we would have to work together,” said Loki, with a glance at his brother. “In any event, yes, Gudrun was born in my mother’s hall – my own mother was one of the midwives – and then she and Ambri lived on the estate in safety and obscurity, under the protection of Frigga and the Koronaugu. When she was seven years old, Ambri died.”

Thialfi and Lyka both flinched unconsciously, and leaned in towards one another. “How?” asked Thialfi.

“I’m not entirely sure, which means that Frigga wasn’t entirely sure. She appeared to have died of poisoning, but they were never able to determine whether she was murdered, or if she committed suicide. Frigga took the girl under her wing, after that, and fostered her at the hall, which was where I, and later Harald, eventually met her, some centuries later.”

“Did Father know?” Thor demanded. 

Loki snorted softly. “Of course. But he wasn’t about to get in Mother’s way. Both Ambri and Gudrun were almost devoid of any innate power of seidr, so Odin agreed to allow Frigga to keep her and raise her as an eye of the crown. He did want to bring Lyka and Thialfi to court, when Gudrun died, but Mother refused.” His jaw tightened abruptly at that. “It was not my fitness as a possible parent that she doubted, at least.”

“Then what did she doubt?” Thialfi sneered, balling his hands into fists against his knees. “Our fitness to be at court, as descendants of the goddess of death?”

Loki looked at his son for a moment. “She was afraid of what Odin might do, if you or your sister ever began to display any unusual powers. Like being able to to call upon the souls of the dead at will, for example,” he said, gesturing to Garm, lying on the ground with his head on his paws, “or to bend the minds of others to do your bidding.” 

He saw Lyka gulp and Freya flinch yet again. “Lyka? Do you know of what I speak?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I... it was something I could do as a child. And then when the councilor came to visit you, I felt something inside me... loosen. A tightness I had not even recognized or known was there. And when it was freed...”

“She opened my mind as though it were a book,” said Freya bitterly. “But she learned nothing, Your Highness, save what I was already willing to tell you about your birth mother.”

A muscle in Loki’s cheek jumped. “So when Frigga saw what you and Thialfi could do, even untrained, she bound your powers tightly, lest Hela see you from Niflheim. And then she and Sigyn kept you away, kept you hidden.”

“All this, because of Odin?” Brynja ventured, darting glances at the fair girl sitting so pale and still beside her. Her grandmother said nothing, but Freya's expression said plainly, ‘I believe it.’ “Would he truly have resorted to harming them?”

“Given his track record with his children...” Loki spread his hands in an eloquent gesture that spoke for itself, and not even Sif could be moved to dispute him. “But the queen’s actions were not entirely dictated by Odin’s behavior. My mother was an independent soul, and she was a Koronaugu before she was a queen. Lyka and Thialfi were her wards, by right of her order, and she felt that their mother's death was on her hands. And Odin allowed it, not because he feared _you_ , but because he feared his daughter might try to claim you, when she finally returned.”

The king rose to his full height, a worried frown creasing his brow. “So when Frigga said that Niflheim’s throne was empty, and that there were heirs in play, this was who she meant?”

Loki’s face was grave. “Possibly. I can think of no others... Darrath’s son is dead, and as far as I know, left no children, and Hela had no other offspring.”

“It is not only Niflheim your children may be heirs to,” Heimdall pointed out, speaking for the first time. “If they are descended from Darrath, they are also technically heirs to the Ljosalfar throne.”

“Three races in our blood and potential heirs to three realms...” Thialfi scrubbed a hand through his brown curls and, for lack of a better response, let out a short, slightly hysterical laugh. “Honestly? That explains so much about our lives... why we were kept away from court, why we were hidden and moved around so much, even to other realms, when necessary... why we were both educated as nobles and you were trained as an eye of the crown,” he added, as an aside to his sister. 

She nodded. “I supposed it also explains the kidnapping.”

Loki stopped dead in his tracks. “...I’m sorry, the _what_?”

“Oh, Lyka was once kidnapped when we were young.” Thialfi shrugged. “It was ages ago.”

“Wha... by who?”

“We never found out. One night she was gone, and then a week later, Sigyn brought her back.”

Loki could not begin to imagine the look on his own face. It felt ridiculous and ominous, all at once. “You’re telling me that Lyka was once kidnapped by unknown forces and this is the first time either of you saw fit to mention it to me?”

“It was five hundred years ago,” his daughter retorted, looking very defensive and highly insulted, “and as you can see, I am _fine_. I barely remember it.”

“Besides, exactly when has there been time?” Thialfi added snidely. “‘Oh hello, your highness, it’s been awhile, and my, that end of the world was splendid, wasn’t it? Oh, and by the way, your long-lost wife once had to rescue your foster-daughter from uncertain peril at the hands of mysterious captors. Funny old realm, isn’t it? Well, time to go dig some latrines and beg for food from the locals!’ We’ve been _preoccupied_ , Your Highness.”

Two sets of angry blue eyes glared up at him, and Loki was ashamed. He had no idea, no idea at all, of what their lives had really been like, between the last time he had seen them, and the end of the world. “Of course,” he said softly. “My apologies.” He resumed his pacing, hoping that no one would notice the burning flush on his pale cheeks.

“Is this why Mama was killed?” Lyka demanded. “Because she was an heir to the Ljosalfar throne?”

“We have gone over this,” Thor said, before Loki could reply. “It is absurd. “The Light Elves have always been a friend to us.”

Behind him, Sif rolled her eyes. “No, Thor, they’ve been a friend to _you_. Specifically, the princess Eilifa Darrathsdottir was a friend to you. Then Anodos murdered her father and all her brothers, and she became queen, and that friendship cooled. Significantly. As much as it pains you, Thor, there seems little doubt that Gudrun was indeed killed while in Ljosalfar custody. They bragged to me about it, remember?” 

Frowning darkly, Thor had to concede that yes, he did remember.

Thialfi dropped his head into his hands for a moment, collecting himself. “Can someone please explain to me who this Anodos person was?” 

“Brother, we’ve both heard about Anodos the Usurper. That war was not so long ago, only three hundred years—”

“Heard about him, yes, as we heard about most of the wars Asgard ever fought: in songs and stories after the fact that glorified the brave Einherjar and waxed rhapsodic about how grateful the Light Elves were. But who exactly was Anodos the Usurper?” Thialfi’s eyes narrowed. “Because if I have been following this sordid tale correctly, Ambri had a twin brother. A cruel twin brother.”

Loki pressed his lips together, and nodded. “You have the right of it, my boy.” He saw Thialfi’s lip curl slightly, and wasn’t sure if it was from the endearment or the confirmation. “Anodos the Usurper was Hela’s son, and Odin’s grandson.”

“And our nephew,” Thor murmured. Too many blows in too short a span had numbed him, and he had ceased to be horrified. But there was no denying the truth. “And yet, we never knew... we never knew.”

“Odin knew. Why else would he have leapt to Ljosalfheim’s aid, during the coup? It was never his habit to interfere in internecine matters, so long as the resulting ruler remained his loyal subject. Believe me,” added Loki, a bit ruefully, “I had to pay close attention to what sort of intra-realm affairs Father would and would not have involved himself in.” He narrowed his eyes at Thor for a moment, studying his awkward expression. “Or did you think it was for Eilifa’s sake?”

Thor snorted softly. “And if I did? Three hundred years ago, when Anodos rained terror on Ljosalfheim, I thought she was to be my wife. Is it so strange that I would assume Father would want to help his allies and future in-laws?” He glanced at the Haraldsborns and twitched his broad shoulders in a shrug. “It was a political arrangement, like so many other betrothals, and it fell through like all the others, but... of all of them, it was the one that I most wanted to succeed, at the time. I was very fond of Eilifa.”

“And she of you,” Heimdall said, with a blandness that said far more than his words did.

Thor coughed. “Yes, well. After the war with Anodos, she broke the marriage contract. She would not marry an Odinson and give Asgard more footing in her realm and among her people. She took one of her own people to husband, to be the father of her son.” 

“That was three centuries ago. Perhaps you should renew your quest for Eilifa’s hand,” Freya suggested dryly, “as she discarded her guardsman husband long ago, and you are now a king without a kingdom.”

“...Thank you, Councilor, for your advice,” said Thor, with admirable self-control. “But such a match is no longer possible. I am already engaged to me married.”

“Indeed? To whom?”

“To Lady Sif.”

Loki stopped his nervous course back and forth and turned on his heel to stare at his brother in absolute astonishment. “Oh, well done, you two. About bloody time.”

Once again, a Haraldsborn dragged the conversation back to the matter at hand. “But this doesn’t explain why the Light Elves would have any interest in us, to the point of kidnapping me. Hela’s children by Darrath were bastards and cannot inherit.”

“Ah, not necessarily,” said Councilor Freya, with a frown and a shake of her head. “If they had been children of an Asgardian father, then that would be true. But among the Ljosalfar, a son is a son, a daughter is a daughter, no matter which side of the blanket they are born on. It matters only whether or not the father acknowledges them.”

“And according to Frigga,” Loki continued, “Darrath never did so with his twins by Hela, so there would have been no reason for him or for anyone else to have ordered Gudrun’s murder on those grounds alone. _But._ There is precedence for Hela’s line to try and seize power, and if Darrath ordered Gudrun executed, it was because he knew, and feared her, as he knew and feared his son. And as Odin cast Hela out and bound her in Niflheim, so too did Darrath cast out his son, over a thousand years ago. When Anodos discovered not only that his father had no intention of acknowledging him, but that he was going to take a wife and have legitimate heirs, _and_ that his sister had plighted her troth with an Asgardian, he went mad with jealousy. He slew Rolf Harrson and tried to raise an army against the king. But it failed, and Darrath branded his son a traitor and a murderer and cast him out. He chained him in Nidavellir, the dark ruined wastelands of Svartalfar.” Loki couldn’t resist a twisted smile. “He called it his son’s birthright.”

“And is it ours as well?” Thialfi demanded. “Is that the fate that awaits my sister and I?”

“No, of course not—” 

“Then what is the _point_ of all of this?” The young man shot to his feet, his blue eyes blazing. He was easily as tall as Loki, and with his hands clenched into fists, he looked on the verge of an explosion. “You almost get yourself killed for an utterly asinine reason, forgetting that there are people here who _depend_ upon you, and then you come back with this horrific story about how my sister and I are descended from the creature that we watched slaughter our neighbors, destroy our home, and make us all vagabonds – and for _what, ‘Father’?_ For _what_? What does this shameful heritage has to do with anything?”

“...I don’t know for certain, but—” 

“You don’t know? All of this – _all of this_ – and you don’t fucking _know?_ ”

“No, Thialfi,” Loki snapped, facing his foster son eye-to-eye, “I don’t know. I have no idea why my dead mother decided that now would be a good time to tell the king and me all the rest of our sordid family melodrama, but I wasn’t going to make the same mistake that Odin did and keep it a secret from you until the worst possible moment!”

“If I may—”

 _“What?”_ Loki and Thialfi growled as one, turning in tandem to face the king. 

Thor jumped. “Don’t – don’t do that again. That was creepy. But I think I know what all of this is about. There were other things Mother told me – Loki knows what I mean – that seemed pointless to the trials at hand... except that others knew these things, while we were kept ignorant. And those others are our enemies, and could use that information against us. Enemies like those responsible for the current unrest in Sessrumnir.”

“What utter nonsense,” Freya sneered. “How dare you use my people to excuse your own family squabbles. You truly are no better than your father – there is no unrest in Sessrumnir.”

“Yes, there is,” retorted Brynja. “And there has been ever since Njord sent Mother and Aunt Mardoll away.”

“You will hold your tongue, girl.”

“No,” said Lyka softly, turning cold, thoughtful eyes on the Lady of Vanaheim, “let her speak.”

Freya gasped and shook, but she gritted her teeth defiantly. “You will not pull my secrets from me again, _witch_.”

“Lyka,” Loki said suddenly, shoving Thialfi aside and laying his hands firmly on her shoulders, “stop this, you don’t know what you’re doing—” He suddenly groaned and fell to his knees. He would have toppled over entirely, if not for Sif darting forward at the last second. “Oh... I don’t think the world is supposed to spin like this...”

Once again, Thialfi forced himself to master his emotions. “That’s enough,” said the young apprentice healer sternly, in a voice that gave even his elders pause. “The prince has to rest, and this time someone is going to obey my directives or there will be hell to pay.” 

No one was willing to challenge him this time, and Loki meekly allowed Sif to put him to bed. 

“Thank you. Now, someone go wake Eir to monitor Prince Loki’s condition, because I am done here.”

And then to the dismay of his sister and foster-father, he turned and bolted from the tent, with Garm running a second or two after him.


	53. Beset by Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revelation of old family secrets brings old pain back to the surface, while in the distance, shadows gather...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HEY REMEMBER THIS FIC?! Moving is _**done**_ and I am back in the saddle, so let’s get this giant undead puppy back on track.
> 
> While I’m at it: for those trying to wrap their heads around the expanded family tree that I’ve introduced in this fic, [here’s a handy graphic!](https://68.media.tumblr.com/f8a823a302db1d5893b9ed15ca2bcdc0/tumblr_p4i5caMW1J1rzp9l9o1_1280.png)
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“Lyka,” said Loki wearily, “go after him.”

“Yes, Uncle.” She rose and, after a split-second of hesitation, went to his bedside and kissed Loki’s forehead. “Rest now, Father,” she whispered, for his ears alone. Then she hurried from the tent, half-hearing as she left Thor sending Sif to find the Valkyrie and make sure she was well.

It was easy enough to see where Thialfi had gone – down to the bank of the nearby river – but as he had far longer legs, it took her some time to catch up with him. By the time she reached his side, he had thrown himself down on the grass near where it gave way to the sand. His curly head was pillowed on his crossed arms.

Garm was trying to comfort his young master, but Thialfi was having none of it. “Away!” he snapped, pushing at the dog’s shoulder. “Go away, you cur!”

Sad and affronted, Garm consoled himself by flopped down with his head in Lyka’s lap. “Thialfi,” she chided, scratching the insulted hound between his ears, “no matter how upset you are, you need not take out your frustrations on the dog.”

“The dog’s dead. Undead. Whatever.”

“That’s as may be, but _he_ doesn’t know that.” Garm looked up at her with such grateful eyes that Lyka felt a bit of a chill. “Then again...”

Thialfi snorted. “If Loki was in full health, I’d prefer to take it out on him.”

“As fond as he is of both of us, brother, I doubt he’d consent to be so abused, even by you.”

“After how he behaved to us today? It would be the least he could do. Better that he had held his tongue and told us in private – better that he had never told us at all. I would rather have gone the rest of my life, without knowing the truth.” Thialfi sat up, awkwardly shifting his long legs around to pull them against his chest. “It was the only thing I had left, that... identity. Thialfi Haraldson. Thialfi of Asgard.”

“You are still both of those things, brother.”

“Asgard is dead. And was I ever truly the son of Harald? I don’t remember him. Am I the son of anyone? I have no memories of Loki from when we were children. I barely remember our mother. The people who cared for us after she died were never around for long, except Sigyn and Frigga. And then Sigyn left... and Frigga died. And you...” He sighed. “I’m tired, Lyka,” he murmured. “I am so tired. I want to go home.”

“You are home,” she assured him. “I’m here.”

“But for how long? How long until that changes as well?”

“Thialfi,” Lyka insisted, “nothing has changed. If we are descendants of Hela and Odin, and with Ljosalfar and Svartalfar blood in our veins, we are still the same people we were this morning.”

“Who I was this morning isn’t anything much to aspire to, either.”

“Thialfi—”

“I have always felt different. Isolated. But I thought I knew why. You were always the confident one, the outgoing one, the one who always managed to make friends and conquests no matter where we were moved to. And I always thought, in spite of everything, in spite of our strange circumstances and my peculiar preferences, that I knew who I was. But it’s all been a ruse.”

Thialfi looked out over the river. “Two months ago, we thought we had a home that would last forever. Two days ago, I thought your path and mine would never diverge, that you would never walk somewhere that I could not follow. Two hours ago, we thought we were Asgardians.” He tossed a rock into the dark water and watched it sink. “Only imagine what tomorrow will bring.”

“We are Asgardians,” said Lyka quietly. “In the ways that matter.”

“We are no more Asgardians than Loki is our blood,” her brother retorted. “And what good is our blood to us now? Bastard scions of three different royal houses in three different realms, descendants of Hela the Executioner, Odin the Butcher, and kin to Malekith the Accursed. Dark Elf, Asgardian, Light Elf... what are we, Lyka?” His smooth jaw tightened abruptly, and there was a darkness in his eyes that she had never seen before. “What am I?”

Lyka hesitated, and then, carefully, touched the back of his hand. “You are my brother, and my friend. And I will not leave your side.”

He looked at her for a moment, and then smiled sadly. “You will, though. Everyone leaves, eventually.”

* * *

Miles away, and high up the cliff side, a shadow climbed the treacherous trail to the cave. It moved with calm, steady ease over the rough shale, never disturbing a single rock, until it reached the lip of the cave. Then the shadow shimmered like water, and then solidified into its proper form. It moved towards the back of the cave, where the portal hummed, closed and dormant but not yet destroyed.

She had to smile as she examined its construction, and it was a proud smile. So like her clever son, to have built it this way, tying it not to his own power, but tapping into the native energy of Vanaheim itself. And it was an old gateway, perhaps even one of the first he had built, before abandoning static portal creation to explore the unseen pathways that she had shown him... and that the Koronaugu favored. Too many static portals were not good for the stability of Yggdrasil, but the unseen paths were as old as the Great Tree itself.

The lawful thing to do, reflected the ghost of Queen Frigga, the right thing to do, would be to open the portal and return to the paths of the dead. She was already in dreadful violation of Niflheim’s laws, which even the souls in Valhalla were bound to obey, and this was not her place anymore. Her business in the realm of the living was long done, and Asgard's woes were no longer her concern...

With a determined set to her jaw, Frigga raised her hands. Gathering power to her, she flung it at the closed portal, shattering the seal.

The cave was flooded with a white-hot light, too bright for the eyes of the living, and in a moment, two figures emerged through the portal, shrouded in translucent cloaks that seemed to shift from gray to dark blue to black. They had no discernible faces, but their hesitant bearing as they walked towards Frigga spoke eloquently of their confusion and uncertainty. One of them, slightly shorter than the other, fell to one knee before her, a black-gloved fist pressed to their breast in salute, and gestured sharply for the other being to do the same. “My queen.” Their voice was something eerie and faraway. “The eyes of the crown answer the call of our leader.”

“Rise, my friend. The dead cannot protect the throne. That task falls to you.”

The taller being briefly touched the shoulder of their companion, and slowly, they rose. “Are you sure this is the best course of action?” asked the shorter figure.

“It is the only course of action. Things are moving too quickly. I have done nearly all I can. The king will need your guidance.”

“Which king?”

“Both of them. Now, you must hurry. There are others on the way who are hidden from Heimdall’s sight, and the Koronaugu must be mobilized under your leadership.” Frigga’s eyes were stern and firm as she passed on her mantle of command, but her gaze seemed to cling for a few seconds to the taller of the two. “Go. Quickly.”

The figures nodded and, in a moment, had melted into shadows.

When Frigga was certain they had gone, she turned her attention back to the portal and raised her hands once more. The light in the cave turned gray and chill.

“Come, my friends... your king needs you.”

* * *

It was not especially difficult for Sif to run the Valkyrie to ground, finding her in in Volkang’s one small tavern, racking up a hefty bar bill that she had no way to pay. Sif sat down at her table, quietly slipped several suitable coins to the tavern-keeper filling Brun’s tankard, and distracted Brun for a while with the story of Thor drinking all the wine in Nornheim. When she had laughed herself calm, Sif asked a simple question.

“Why did you run?”

It was a long time before Brun answered her, and when she did, it was not immediately to the point. “When I was young, before I joined the Valkyries, I was... very close to my parents. They were both warriors, of one kind or another, but they were done with that by the time I showed up. The last of six,” she added, raising her tankard in a wry toast.

“Ancestors,” Sif swore. “That is... an unusually large number.”

“Well, they were enthusiastic people. I definitely inherited that from them... I was the baby of the family. Two older brothers, three older sisters... I was a bit spoiled, I guess. My father was a vindictive son of a bitch – Mum threw him out of her bed after Baby Number Six, and he never quite forgave me or her for that, but he still loved me, in his way. My mother gave me my first combat and weapons training, and my father taught me to drive a good bargain and how to assess proper goods, and I never really thought to look ahead to a time when I’d need any of it.

“And then a plague came.” Brun traced a finger around the rim of her mug. “It’s not something you really expect, an epidemic like that, when you come from a people who live for five thousand years and who’ve all but eradicated most illnesses. But sometimes things... get too out of balance, and the Norns or the universe or whatever... decide to tip things a bit back towards the middle.”

“All three of my sisters died. So did my oldest brother.” She let out a sharp, ugly laugh. “‘Taken by Hela,’ we used to say, even though the king’s daughter had nothing to do with the plague. My other brother Alf and my father sickened but survived, though neither of them were ever the same. But Mother and I were spared. After that, I got restless. I think... I wanted to do something with my life. Something important, something that _meant_ something,” Brun insisted, so fervently that Sif could do nothing but believe her, in spite of her obvious drunkenness. “So I joined the Valkyries.”

Sif suspected that it had been slightly more complicated than that. The legends about what a woman had to endure to be worthy of simply being considered for the Valkyrior were many and terrible. “How did your family react to your decision? I know my parents were... less than enthused, when I took up arms in the king’s service.”

“My mother and Alf supported me. My father was... devastated. Wouldn’t even say goodbye.” Brun swallowed, hard. “I never saw him again, after I left home. He just... gave up, I suppose. After that, the Valkyrior became my family. I had sisters again, and brothers, too – there were always sons of Valkyries about. That’s how I first met Heimdall. There were adopted nieces and nephews everywhere, and lovers.

“And I lost them all. Every last one of them.”

“I know,” said Sif quietly. “Thor... the king told me.”

“He doesn’t know the half of it. The prince does, of all people. He’s seen my memories... Hela returned from her exile, leading an army of the dead. Odin charged the Valkyrior to ride against Hela for the safety of the throne and the realm and his infant son. And we did... and I lost my family to her a second time.”

There were no tears in Brun’s voice or in her eyes, only an infinitely tired sort of sadness. A thousand years of tears was too much for anyone, even for a Valkyrie.

“After Hela was locked away again, we gathered all the bodies of the slain. That was the first time we ever cremated our dead. People were afraid that the goddess of death might somehow claim their physical remains. And after the funeral, I left. I ran. And I ran as far away as I possibly could. But it wasn’t far enough, was it? Hela took both my blood family and my family of choice from me, and now Hela’s kin are in the camp. And it was all... too much for me. It’s why he warned me off. He knew. Bastard. Knows me better than I realized. It’s fucking terrifying, when someone knows you that well and you can’t figure out how or when it happened.”

She did not mention Loki by name, though they both knew well enough who she was referring to. Sif understood. “I know the feeling. The king has often taken me by surprise, and in much the same way. He holds you in very high regard, you know. As does all that remains of the royal family. You are deeply trusted and much loved.”

At the word ‘love’, Brun grimaced. “Trust. We all trust enough other because we don’t have any other choice. And as for love... Didn’t have much choice over that, either. I should never have stayed with this lot. Should’ve gone back to Sakaar... might still go back.”

“To do what? Return to enslaving people?”

“To forget, to drink... to die, eventually.” Brun drained what was left in her tankard and flagged down the publican for more.

Sif waited. “And will you?”

“No.” Brun swallowed down half the fresh mead in one gulp. “I started something, and I’m going to stick with it.”

“I’m grateful. I’m used to having at least three others to help me keep Thor in line. I could use the extra set of hands.”

That made Brun grin, if a little unsteadily. “You’re gonna need more than my help with that, I think... I wouldn’t hurt them, you know. The Haraldsborns.”

“I am relieved to hear that. They seem relatively harmless.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. They do still have a very strange pedigree. But they’re good kids. The boy, especially. He’s got a hell of a heart. I’m not going to hold either of them responsible for what Hela did.” A muscle in her jaw tightened. “They’ve suffered... as much as anyone. As much as I have. Maybe more than I have.” She looked at her drink blearily and then pushed it away. “Is it dark out yet? I need to get some sleep.”

Sif did not offer to walk Brun to her tent, but she lingered a pace or two behind, in case the Valkyrie stumbled or needed someone to hold her head out of the bushes. Then she made her way to Thor’s tent. She was beset by shadows, but still very much awake, so she returned to the maps she had so hastily abandoned the night before, in hopes that they would soothe her brain.


	54. The Mechanics of Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki have a talk about the power of words, the strength of stories, and the resilience of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

The healer that Heimdall returned with, per Thialfi’s orders, was _not_ Eir, who had been hastily called out to attend to a woman in labor, but Vala, a woman of Heimdall’s generation who Thor knew best as a field medic from many mighty campaigns, and one who lacked even Eir’s nostalgic patience for Loki’s melodramatics. 

She took one look at Loki’s gasping pallor, and at the chaos left behind by Loki’s revelations and Thialfi’s abrupt exist, and her round dark face grew even darker. “Out,” she ordered, with a sharp gesture that included even the king. “All of you.”

Freya did not wait to be told twice, and stormed out of the tent with a terrible glower on her face. Brynja left as well, with a backward glance of very worried confusion. Heimdall bent to whisper something in Vala’s ear, and then to Thor’s surprise, he kissed Vala’s cheek before ducking out. 

Vala turned to the brothers. Loki grew even more pale. Thor gulped but stood his ground. “Out, your majesty,” she said sternly. “I’ll not have you upsetting him any further.”

“Me? I didn’t—”

“Actually,” Loki ventured hoarsely, “this uproar... was rather my doing.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh. In _that_ case – tell me what happened?”

“Family problems,” said Thor, crossing his arms while she brandished her tools over his brother. “Loki had a word with the Haraldsborns, and then things... got out of hand, and Loki had a bit of a relapse.”

“If you managed to get under Thialfi’s skin that badly, your highness, then I’d say you’ve more than earned something of a relapse.” She checked his vital signs, paying careful attention to this seidr levels and how his body was replenishing its power reserves. “Did he say anything before he ran out?”

“Yes... he told me to rest.”

Vala closed her scanner, put a hand on Loki’s chest, and pushed him firmly back against his pillows. “Then I suggest you show your son some respect, my prince, and do as he prescribed.”

“I will see that he does,” Thor promised. 

Loki rolled his eyes. “Kiss-arse,” he muttered.

Vala spear Thor with a terrifying look. “I’m going to hold you to that, your majesty,” she warned. “Because I am not letting anything else happen to that boy’s father on my watch.”

The brothers exchanged a glance and fell silent until she left to attend to duties elsewhere. 

“She seems nice,” said Thor. 

“Oh, shut _up_.” Loki glowered as Thor dragged a chair to his bedside. “Where did you learn how to be so obsequious?”

“Only from the best, brother. What’s wrong? Afraid I’m moving in on your territory?”

He meant it as little more than a jest, as always, but – as always – Loki found a way to twist his words. “It would not be the first thing of mine you’ve tried to take away today.”

Thor sighed. This was worse than simply having the meaning of his words altered. This was taking what he had said and turning his words on their sides to give Loki an edge upon which he could spring an attack from, something that gave Thor little opportunity to mount a defense. “I meant well, Loki, I—” 

“Oh, I know you did. You always mean well. But know this, brother: if you try to take them away or turn them against me me, our reconciliation will mean nothing, and I will show you how a father ought to act in the defense of his children, blood or no.”

Thor stared at Loki, dumbfounded, for several moments. “You really think I’d do that to you? That I’m capable of acting in such a way, to you? I spoke in haste, Loki. And don’t try to claim you’ve never done so yourself.”

The prince was unimpressed. “You’ve always been a powerful speaker, Thor, but you’re still ignorant of their power to _wound_ , as well as to motivate. Will you never learn to _think_ before you speak?”

“Brother... I’m sorry.”

Loki grimaced and rolled over in his bed, turning his back to Thor. “I’m never going to be enough for you, am I? No matter how often or how drastically I prove myself—” 

Thor gritted his teeth. “Loki,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I just dragged your bloody carcass down a mountain and carried you home on my horse. Do not start this nonsense again.”

“Oh of course, I’m the one starting nonsense. Go _away_ , Thor. Go find your blood family, since that’s plainly so important to you.”

“They’d just get angry with me for leaving you.” Thor sat down on the bed and ruffled Loki’s hair. Then he pulled a face. “You’re filthy. I should throw you into a tub. Or into the river.”

“Or off a bridge? Thanks, I’ll pass.”

“Loki. I am _sorry_.”

Loki let out a deep, beleaguered sigh. “Oh, forget it. I haven’t got the energy to stay mad at you right now.” He swallowed and curled into a tighter ball. “I’ve ruined everything. Again. Thialfi will want nothing to do with me now, and Brun—” 

“Brun will recover from the shock. She has no reason to hold a grudge against your children for their ancestress.”

“Grudges aren't known for their good sense... I love her, Thor. In some utterly incomprehensible way, she is the best thing that’s happened to me in centuries. I don’t know if I can cope with losing her now.”

“And she loves you, much to her surprise.”

“And to yours?”

“Not really. You are easy to love, Loki, if you’ll only allow it.” Thor stroked his hair lightly. “Don’t vex yourself too much over the Valkyrie, brother. She’ll be back. Once she’s sober.”

“That might be awhile. I knew it would be something of a shock to her... I handled this as badly as Father did.”

Unfortunately, Thor could not contradict that. “You had to tell them,” he said instead, carefully. “And, yes, you could have perhaps done so a little less... dramatically, a little less publicly—” 

Loki groaned. “Damn it... damn.” His voice snagged in his throat, which was tightening ominously. “I wanted to do better than Odin. I wanted... I didn’t want it to be a shameful secret for them. I wanted them to know, for their family to know...”

“And Freya?”

“...All right, I wanted Freya to know so I could hold it over her head. I’m tired of her machinations. Surely you can allow me a little pettiness.” 

“A little?”

“Besides, the girl is in love with Lyka. If she can’ handle the truth now, best to get it out of the way.” Loki drew in an unsteady breath. “At least Lyka doesn’t seem to hold this against me.”

“She didn’t seem especially surprised... do you think she suspected?”

“No, I think she’s in shock, and doing her best to hold together and be strong for her little brother.”

Thor touched Loki’s hair again, this time to smooth it against the back of his neck. “I’m glad. I tried to be the brother you needed, when we were young. I think I did well, most of the time... but I know where were times when I was not. And I know I’m not without fault, in driving the wedge that came between you and me.”

“No, Thor, you certainly are not. But... not now. Not right now.” Loki dragged his pillow into his arms and pressed his face against it, and at the same time pressing his back against Thor’s side. His spine dared Thor to say one word about the contact. Wisely, Thor said nothing. He did sometimes know when to hold his tongue. “Thialfi will hate me now. The way I hated Odin.”

“You cried when Odin died. You tried to provoke him at every turn. You took his powers and his throne to prove to him that you were better than he believed. That’s not hate, Loki.”

“I failed him, Thor. I failed him and then he failed me, and now I’m doing the same to my own son.”

“How has Thialfi failed you?”

“He hasn’t,” Loki snapped, rolling over and sitting up to glare sulfurously at his king. “He can’t. He's got nothing to prove to me to be ‘worthy’ of being called my son.”

Thor simply smiled. 

“...Bastard,” Loki muttered.

“Apparently.”

Loki froze. “I... had completely forgotten.”

“I usually forget you’re adopted, until you fling it back in my face.” Thor’s lips tipped up. “You’re my brother. You’re Odin’s son, you’re Frigga’s son. And your children are _your_ children. They’ve always been yours. You didn’t just meet them last week. This is not a new relationship.”

“It might as well be newly-minted. I spent so long hiding their parents from Odin’s notice, after he sent them from the capital, and so long trying to keep my trysts with them a secret, that finally the best way to hide them all and keep it secret was simply to forget about them the second I rode away from their house.” One of Loki’s hands worried nervously at the palm of the other. “They’ve always been mine... but I haven’t always been theirs. I wasn’t able to be, I didn’t... I couldn’t _let_ myself be. And Lyka may be able to forgive me for that, but Thialfi... may not.” 

His jaw tightened abruptly as he gritted his teeth against a barrage of emotion. “Well, if he can’t, then he can’t. It will make no difference to me. So, brother.” Loki smiled, very brightly and broadly. “You and Sif are going to be married.” 

Thor nodded warily, wondering at the sudden shift in topic and what Loki intended. That smile had a lot of teeth, but it did not touch Loki’s eyes, which was never a good sign. “She tells me I have you to thank for pushing her into my tent, that night.” 

“Well, metaphorically, perhaps. I just wanted to give you someone’s shoulder to sob on, and she seemed like the best choice. I half-expected you two to go to bed together, but I didn’t seriously anticipate marriage. Not this quickly.” The bright false smile dropped away. Loki's fingers fiddled nervously, pulling at a loose bit of weave in the blanket over his legs. “Do you ever... think about Jane?”

Whatever Thor might have expected to come out of his mouth, _that_ was not it. “Sometimes. There hasn’t exactly been time, but... not as much as I did before we found Sif again.” 

“Why did you two end your affair?” 

“I told you.”

“The truth, brother.”

There was something pleading, in those quiet words. Thor ran a hand over his hand. “It was... difficult, being apart all the time. She had her work and I had mine, and sometimes months would go by when we wouldn’t see each other. We couldn’t wait to be reunited, and then when we were...”

“No chemistry?” Loki prompted. “Or no conversation?”

“Oh, there was a fair amount of both. It was not that we grew bored with one another. Her intellect reaches even beyond the stars, and I could listen to her talk for days. And it was not a lack of support – I could not have asked for a better friend.” Thor shook his hand and scrubbed his fingers through his hair again.

“Take your time, brother,” Loki advised. “Don’t hurt yourself. Emotional clarity was never one of your talents.” 

“It’s not a family trait,” Thor growled back. 

“...Fair point.” Loki fell silent and let the king struggle through the pitfalls of the language of the heart. 

“I loved her, and I love her still,” Thor said at last, “but in my mind, I can no longer see her as a queen at my side.” 

"Ah. So... duty." 

"No! Well, some. A little." 

“Are you sure that’s all? Because you turned the Nine Realms upside down and then foreswore Asgard for this woman, so for you be grow bored with her so soon... Well, I had not thought you so _fickle_ , brother.”

“It was not boredom, it...” Thor leaned over and smacked Loki’s hand away from its nervous unpicking of the woven blanket. “It was _exhaustion_. At least for me. Her hunger for knowledge, to understand the mysteries of the universe, it is so vast and deep and wide and – and unfathomable. And while Earth’s knowledge is still primitive and incomplete, her desire for more could sometimes be frightening. There would be days when she would neither sleep nor eat. And while the concepts she was working on are child’s play to us, well... you know I am no scholar.” 

“No.” Loki’s smile was amused but warm. “And that is one of the pitfalls of falling in love with an obsessive learner.”

“Sigyn sometimes complained to us, over mead, that you were more enamored of your books than you ever were of her,” Thor replied, with a placating smile as apology for bringing up her name. “But at least your interests were hers as well.”

“And Jane’s interests were not yours. So what you’re saying is: you couldn’t keep up.”

Thor hung his head. “It sounds so petty when you say it aloud.” 

“So who dumped who?” 

“It, uh... started out as mutual, and then I tried to walk it back, and Jane...”

“Dumped you. And now you’re to marry a woman who can still think circles around you, but who also likes a good bar fight now and then. It’s a good balance.”

Thor still looked ashamed. “It was like a love out of one of the sagas,” he murmured. “And then it... wasn’t. And neither of us could quite understand why.” 

“Well, as someone who knows stories and their mechanics intimately... I must admit, it’s rather comforting to know that’s not how things work in real life.”

“ _How?_ How is that comforting?”

“If even a love to reshape realms can fade into a confusing mess and come to an end, but you can still find love and companionship after...” Loki drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his folded arms. “Mother kept prodding me to ask questions about Sigyn, but it all feels... unimportant now. I still love her. I will always love her. But grand love affairs... end, and fade. And we have to move on. And if we’re fortunate enough to find someone who wants to continue on with us... shouldn’t we accept the opportunity?”

Thor blinked. “Are you giving reassurance or asking for it?” 

“...Bit of both, I suppose.”


	55. Trespassing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adopted children of Loki wrestle with their newfound heritage, and the sons of Odin discover that a vital player has been missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... been leading up to this revelation since chapter 8. Nervous author is nervous. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

"Brother, you're so tired," Lyka murmured, rubbing his hand. "Come, we'll go back to the camp, we'll have some supper, and we'll get some rest." She smiled, and leaned in to press a kiss to his curly head. "I'll even sing you to sleep, if you like. Just the way I used to, when we were small."

It sounded lovely. "I can't," Thialfi said. He squeezed her hand and stood up. "I promised Brun that I would look in on the Hulk this evening and make sure he was comfortable and fed."

Lyka couldn't keep the nervousness from her face. "Is... Are you sure that's wise? After what he did to Loki..."

"At the moment, I feel a great deal of sympathy with a desire to rip Loki's arm off... Besides, there's no one else who will go near him when he's in this state, other than the king, and he's otherwise occupied." Thialfi brushed some grass from his leggings and smiled. The expression did not quite reach his eyes. "I will be fine. And I know I need not worry about you, in my absence. You do not lack for fine company, in the evenings."

"That is not fair," Lyka retorted sharply. "I spent one night with Brynja, and all I did was sleep."

"You misunderstand," he said, one corner of his lips quirking up sadly. "I was being sincere. I'm grateful that you're not alone."

"Neither are you," she began, but he had turned away, his long legs carrying him away faster then her words could fly. Garm whined and started to get up, but Lyka gently pulled him back by the shoulders. "No, boy, you stay with me. I need you."

* * *

Before he entered the cargo bay, Thialfi had to stop and take several deep breaths. He had a burlap sack full of dried venison and half a bushel of apples, and frankly from all the tales he had heard, he wasn't entirely sure if it was going to be enough to sate the beast. To say nothing of the things the former gladiators had said about 'the champion'. Korg was a wonderful follow, but the stories he told around the campfires at night were... cheerfully gruesome, to say the least.

"It's Bruce," he reminded himself firmly. "Even if he doesn't recognize me, Bruce Banner is still in there somewhere." Then, remembering what Bruce had told him about the strange experiment and the transformation that it had induced, he amended his thought. "Bruce might also _not_ still be in there. It does not matter, one way or the other. It is the Hulk who is the patient here. He is the one who needs you right now. He has no friends except Thor and Brun and they are otherwise occupied right now."

Thialfi's heart was beating fit to burst from his chest. In an attempt to calm himself, he cast his mind back to the riding lessons he had forced himself to endure, as a boy. A horse could sense fear, just as a dog could, and they would feed off of that fear and become skittish and obstinate, even dangerous. And while the Hulk was certainly not an animal, Thialfi was well aware that he could be extremely dangerous.

And so, unsure of what else to do, Thialfi knocked on the small interior door to the cargo bay that the Hulk had claimed for himself.

His reply was an angry roar that shook every bolt and plate in the ship. "Go away!"

Well, he'd been prepared for that, at least. "The Valkyrie sent me!" Thialfi shouted through the door. "I've brought you food."

There was a pause, and then the ship vibrated under the Hulk's footsteps. He wrenched open the door and glared down at Thialfi. "Angry Girl said she'd come."

"I know," said Thialfi, with an almost completely steady voice. "But she was called away." He held out the sack. "But she sent me to make sure you got some supper."

Hulk growled his displeasure and then snatched the sack from Thialfi's grasp. In his big green hand, it looked frighteningly tiny. He plopped into a corner of the cargo bay, shaking the ship again, and examined the contents of the sack. Aware that he should probably flee, but too terribly curious to obey his own instincts, Thialfi inched his way into the bay.

The venison was wolfed down without a second thought, before Hulk started in more leisurely on the fruit. "You're Banner's friend."

"Dr. Banner is my teacher, yes. My name's Thialfi. I work in the camp hospital."

The enormous dark eyes regarded him with wary disdain. "Baby God."

"...Sorry?"

The Hulk gestured with his massive fist full of apples. "You're Puny God's baby. You're Baby God."

"That is... mildly patronizing, but not entirely inaccurate, I suppose. But yes, Loki is my father. For all intents and purposes, at least. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Hmph. You don't break Earth, I don't smash you."

"I think that's a fair bargain." Thialfi watched warily from his comer while Hulk devoured the contents of the sack, seemingly in seconds. "Can I get you anything else?"

Hulk swallowed. "Stay."

Thialfi frowned, not sure he comprehended the deep grunt correctly. "'Stay'?"

Hulk tossed an apple at him – or rather, lobbed it at his head with all the force of a cannon. "Baby God stay, keep Hulk company. Talk to Hulk. Please?"

It was the please that took Thialfi so by surprise, and convinced him to let his guard down a little. "It must be tiresome for you, to be cooped up in this place," he said, rolling the red-and-yellow Vanir apple back and forth between his long, sensitive hands. "Why do you hide in here? Did Brun tell you to come here?"

"No." The mention of the Valkyrie creased the Hulk's big green face in a tremendous frown. It was so like and yet so unlike one of Dr. Banner's expressions that for a few seconds, Thialfi actually doubted what he was seeing. "Hulk goes to his room by himself. Angry Girl not Hulk's friend. Likes Banner better." He heaved a sigh and crashed to the floor in a sulk. "Everyone likes Banner better. Everyone hate Hulk." The fearsome face was suddenly as sad and forlorn as a toddler with a broken toy. "Everyone scared of Hulk."

Thalfi's already bruised heart felt another twinge. "Well," he said, taking a big bite out of the apple he had been given, and sitting down next to the Hulk, "what are you scared of?"

Hulk let out a sharp grunt, plainly affronted at the very idea. "Hulk _never_ scared," he declared. "Hulk angry. Hulk always angry." Then he looked sideways at Thialfi. "What you scared of?"

"Oh," the apprentice healer sighed, "lots of things. Horses. Losing my sister. Never getting to sleep again. Myself."

"Hulk?"

"No, of course not! Well, all right, a little, at first. I did see you throw my father into a tree, a few nights ago."

"Sorry. Hulk don't like Puny God. He break Earth, hurt Hulk's friends."

"Oh, believe me, I know all about what Loki did on Earth. But he did help save my people from annihilation. And Brun likes him. And so does my sister. And Thor likes him quite a lot, too. You see? That's three whole entire people who prefer Loki to stay unsmashed."

The Hulk was not impressed. "Angry Girl and Thor like Puny God better than Hulk."

"People can have more than one friend at a time, you know," Thialfi teased lightly. "Like I can be both Banner's friend and yours."

This pronouncement was met with deep skepticism. "You scared of Hulk."

"Not anymore. I told you, I have too many other things in my life to be scared of right now. You, you're just big and green and angry. And you helped save my people, too." Thialfi looked up. "Thank you." Hulk seemed as ill-equipped to handle gratitude as Loki, for he rolled his massive shoulders awkwardly and scrubbed a hand through his green-black hair. Thialfi hid his smile in another bite of apple. "And after all, it's not as if you were going to eat me, right? ...Right?" Hulk glowered at him. "Right, right, of course not, that's ridiculous. You're not a monster out of a child's bedtime story, you're not a troll or a Frost Giant or a Dark Elf..."

The young healer's attempt at cheering himself faded. "Can't say that sort of thing anymore, I suppose. Part Svartalfar, subject of a Jotunn prince... Damn the royal family. Damn you, Odin – _Grandfather_ – this is all your fault. And I hope wherever the Norns have seen fit to put you, you realize that it's all your fault."

As prayers went, it was less then reverent, but it made him feel better. A little better. At the very least, it allowed some of his irrational anger at Loki to bleed away...

"Who you talking to?"

"Oh, myself." Thialfi yawned. "I do that, when I'm tired."

Hulk nodded and put a hand the size of a hog on Thialfi's shoulder, shoving him to the floor of the cargo bay. "Baby God sleep," he ordered.

"I will, I promise. I'll go back to my tent and—"

"No, no tent. Baby God sleeps here." He grabbed a thermal tarp that was clearly intended to cover cargo and dropped the heavy silvery synthetic over Thialfi. "Baby God sleep," he repeated, with a gruff sort of gentleness. "Hulk keeps away bad dreams."

* * *

"You should know, you have cause to be very proud of your son, brother," Thor said, as he helped Loki back into bed after assisting him to the latrine.

"I would be proud of him even without cause." He could have perfectly well made his own way to the toilets, but Loki had preferred not to run the risk of Vala seeing him and chaining him to his bed with a bed pan. "Oh, don't smirk at me like that," Loki added, rolling his eyes at Thor. "I know I'm laying it on a bit thick, but..."

"You're making up for lost time. I know. But you can't object to me feeling happy for you."

"Even if it feel rather premature? He may never speak to me again." Loki's hands clutched softly at the blanket covering his legs. "But never mind that right now. What specific cause have I to be proud of my son?"

"He rode with us, to recover you, and tended you with great ability and care when we found you."

"Yes," said Loki quietly, "I had heard something of the sort."

"And he was very adept and quick to help Councilor Freya when she fell ill in the cave, after accessing the portal."

"I am very glad to hear it. He has a far better heart than I." Loki raised an eyebrow. "But why was Freya there in the first place?"

"Well, you did steal her horse," Thor reminded him, somewhat apologetically.

"I _borrowed_ her horse," Loki corrected primly. "I'm not a horse thief. And that's hardly a compelling reason - after all, the horse made it back to camp before I did."

"You are the son of someone Freya considered a friend, and she's had an interest in you since we arrived here. Surely that is reason enough for any one person."

"It should be, yes. But do you know... somehow, I don't think it is." Loki held out one hand, palm up, and summoned his magic.

"Brother," Thor began.

"It's just a small flame, nothing to worry about. You used to be able to do this yourself, when we were children. Before you decided that magic wasn't worth your time..." Not so long ago, such words from Loki would have been intolerably bitter, but his smile was wistful and fond, nothing more. "I wonder... I have only very jumbled memories of climbing up there, but I find myself concerned about that portal. But I can't remember... You say Freya destroyed it, after you found me?"

Thor shook his head. "She only sealed it again. She claimed not to be able to collapse it completely. Was she lying, do you think? Would a seidr-master of her age and ability truly lack such a skill?"

"Possibly. Remember your old lessons – some spells are linked to genetic predisposition. Of course, it is far easier to destroy static portals than it is to create them in the first place, but the two skill sets are linked, so if she's not able to do the one, I suppose it makes sense that she'd be unable to do the other." Loki let the little flame dance over his fingers for a moment or two, and then extinguished it with a graceful wave of his hand. "Did she happen to say anything about the portal? About it seeming unusual in any way?"

"Apart from you having a static portal hidden in a cave in the Vanir mountains in the first place, no. Not that I... no, wait. She did. Not about the portal itself, but about the cave."

"What about it?"

"She told Thialfi that there was a power there, one that she had felt before." Loki sat up slowly, with an expression that gave Thor a sudden chill. "Loki, whatever opened the portal, could that be the other power at work in Sessrumnir? The one Mother warned us of, that has taken control of the Vanir court?"

"It was open," Loki whispered, his face gone frighteningly white. "It was open when I got there, and I didn't question it because I was dying and I needed the portal's energy to be able to reach Niflheim. But it should not have been open."

"Are you certain?"

"Of course I'm certain," Loki snapped. "Do you think I would be so careless as to leave a pathway like that open? Oh, I am an idiot," he said, tearing off the blankets and standing. "I am a foolish, sentimental, feverish idiot..." A familiar green shimmer passed over him, clothing him in his well-worn green and black fighting leathers. "Thor, we need to go."

"Go? Go where? No, stop that, you're not going anywhere." Thor grabbed his brother's arm, and was unreasonably pleased when Loki did not flinch away or try to defend himself. "Loki, you're still not well."

"I'm well enough for this. Thor, I have to get to that cave."

"What, tonight?"

"Tonight. Now. Thor, listen: that portal wasn't designed to be triggered from this end. It was a way for me to leave Asgard quickly, when I had need of it. Do you understand me? _It cannot be opened from this end._ So if I found it opened--"

"Then someone used it to come here from Asgard," Thor finished. He stared at Loki in horror. "Before it was destroyed." He seized Loki's shoulders. "Brother, who else knew of this portal?"

"Lyka and Thialfi, apparently, and Sigyn, who used it to bring them here when they were small."

"But... Sigyn cannot be the force controlling the Vanir throne." Thor hesitated. "Could she?"

"She'd be more than capable of ruling a realm from the shadows. But it wouldn't be her style. Unless she's altered significantly in the last four hundred years."

"You did."

Loki looked as though he could have done without the reminder. "She's not the only possibility. I did share the existence of the portal with a few others... but very few knew it had an entrance within the palace as well as one in a random pub on the south coast. Only Sigyn... and one other." His lean face was grave. "Thor, we have to go to the cave."

"You're not well enough to ride. And it will take hours, the healers will see that you've gone."

"I can teleport us both."

"Are you strong enough for that?"

"I will be." Loki gritted his teeth and hold out his hands. "I just... need a little help."

The responsible part of Thor's brain was screaming at him. But all he heard was his little brother finally asking for help. He gripped Loki's hands, and summoned the lightning.

This time, Loki was prepared for the energy transfer, and barely staggered back. His eyes went wide, and for a second, Thor saw the flash of lightning bolts crackling through Loki's retinas. The blue-white electricity changed to green and gold in Loki's hands, and he grinned and rubbed his palms together like the mischief maker of old. "Ah, much better! Now, brother, let's see who has been trespassing on my property."

He slung an arm over Thor's shoulder, and all in a rush of sounds and images, the hospital tent vanished.

Thor swallowed nervously. "L-Loki? Why can't I see?"

"Because we're in a cave, idiot."

"Hey! King now, remember?"

"Sorry. Because we're in a cave, Your Idiot Majesty."

"Much better. Can you make a light or...?" His question was answered a series of soft gold translucent orbs hovering near the cave ceiling. "Well, you seem to be feeling better."

"And I'm not even lying this time." Loki prowled the perimeter of the cave, feeling the ebb and flow of seidr within its walls. “Mother’s been here,” he said quietly. “Recently. I can sense the traces of her magic.”

“Did she come to return to the paths of the dead?”

“I can’t tell. The portal is still closed. There is the faint touch of the dead, still lingering, but I can’t say whom, or if they were coming or going.” He cracked his knuckles lightly and flexed his fingers. "Now, let's see what stories this old doorway has to tell me..." He stretched his arms out towards where Thor knew the portal to be, not to open it, but to call upon its energy, to test and to taste.

For a moment or two, all was quiet. Then Loki jerked violently and, though he was still standing, suddenly went limp, like a man impaled upon a spear.

It lasted only for a second or two, then he was upright once more, but for those two seconds, Thor's heart was in his throat.

Loki let out string of unintelligible words that sounded more like curses than like spells, and then he flung a flurry of magic at the closed portal that put what was left of Thor's hair on end. "No one else uses this portal until _I_ say so," Loki ground out.

He turned around with such a look of nauseous rage that Thor feared he might vomit. Vomit, and then raze the nearest mountain. “Do you know who it is?” he ventured.

“Oh, we both know her. In every possible way.” Loki’s hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles practically pierced his skin. “It’s Lorelei. She escaped Asgard’s destruction, and she’s here.”


	56. Old Battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As an old enemy comes to light, two princes and a princess find comfort where they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~First of all, before I forget:~~ DAMN IT, I FORGOT! check out the wonderful fan art that [kirjoihin-kadonnut](https://kirjoihin-kadonnut.tumblr.com/post/171728703167/lyka-and-brynja-from-chapter-41-of-the) did for Lyka and Brynja! Thank you so much aaaaahhhhhhh!!!! ♥♥♥
> 
> Just a note about future chapters: we are rapidly approaching the **end** of this story. Please note: that is **this** story. I realized a little while ago that there's no room to do everything I want to do within the confines of a single story and still have it be a ~~reasonably~~ manageable length, so I'll be wrapping up some plot lines in this fic and the rest in upcoming fics. There will be a prequel dealing with Loki and Sigyn, and then I’m going to dive right back into the Recent Plot Developments that left everyone screaming at me in the comments. I do hope you'll all stick around as I continue this series. ♥
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki’s voice was so cold that for a moment, Thor could hear the murderous winds of Jotunheim howling in the distance, and he wasn’t entirely sure they were only in his mind. “She’s here, and it’s my fault. Once again, her crimes are because of me. I should’ve let Sif kill her. Instead, I ordered she be brought back alive, solely so that I could gloat over her torments.” Loki’s eyes blazed wildly, and for a horrible moment, he looked more like the half-mad would-be conqueror of Earth than the mischievous savior of Asgard. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

* * *

Garm lifted his head and woofed lightly at something behind Lyka, and a split-second later, she heard the soft fall of footsteps approaching her spot on the riverbank. "I'm grateful that your hound recognizes me as a friend," Brynja commented, lowering herself to the grass beside Lyka. "I should hate to ever be on his bad side."

Lyka managed a smile. "He is a good dog. Confused by my brother's behavior, but deeply loyal." She patted his wiry gray head fondly. "I wasn't sure if you would want anything to do with me, after today."

"Hmph." Brynja tore idly at the grass with her fingernails. "My grandmother would certainly prefer that I didn't. But she hasn't been honest with me in weeks, so frankly, if she insists on having her secrets and telling me nothing, I don't see that I owe her any obedience in my private life."

"I was under the impression that royals were not permitted to have private lives."

"True, but I'm nobody. The king's bastard great-granddaughter. I'm free to bed whom I please. Provided there's anyone in the offing." Brynja shrugged. "Freya remembers too many things for too long. If I turned away everyone who was descended from someone who once wronged her in any great or small way, I should be condemning myself to a life alone. Not that that wasn't what I was already expecting - it's not as if I've had many people clamoring for my hand - but it's the principle of the thing!"

Lyka had to laugh at that. "I admire your commitment to your convictions. But surely you have had suitors."

"I've had lovers, in the past, but it's been years. And all men," Brynja added, abruptly dropping into shyness. "And ever since I have chosen to live according to my nature, there has been no one. Even the few who have remained my friends believe that this is simply some sort of fancy of mine, and that eventually, I will be as I was... They are going to be disappointed."

"Good," said Lyka stoutly. And for a moment, the mischief that so often sparked in Loki's green eyes danced laughingly in her blue ones. But the delight faded quickly. "At least you now understand what your nature is... I'm so worried about him, Brynja. About Thialfi. I was stunned by the awful truth that Loki revealed, and I don't yet know what to make of any of it, but my brother... took it all very badly."

Brynja took her hand and squeezed it, and then laced their fingers together. Lyka's hand was soft and smooth and elegant, the hand of a court lady and a scholar, while Brynja's was callused and roughened by reins and sword hilts, but the two fit together well. _Very well indeed,_ Lyka thought, and then flushed.

Thankfully, Brynja seemed not to notice. "I think I can understand, a little," she said quietly. "It... hurts, spending your whole life believing you're one thing, and then discovering that it isn't true. It makes you doubt yourself. Who you are, what your rightful place in the world is. I know something about that," she added, somewhat sheepishly.

"I know you do," Lyka said, stroking Brynja's face with her free hand and leaning in to kiss her. She meant it to be brief, but once she was there, neither woman wanted her to leave. Somehow, they ended up on their backs, in one another's arms in the grass, under the rapidly fading sunlight. "Was it truly only yesterday that we first sat here, beneath the stars," Lyka murmured, her forehead pressed to Brynja's, "beside my father's sand castle and his seaweed dragons, and talked until we were weary, and realized there was something between us?"

"It was truly only yesterday." Brynja let a few strands of Lyka's gold hair twine around her fingers.

"And now the little dragons are gone."

"And only this morning that you woke in my bed..." Again, Lyka blushed, and this time, Brynja did notice. A soft expression crossed her face, and she threaded her fingers through Lyka's hair, whispering her name and drawing Lyka's lips down to hers.

When they pulled apart, only an inch or two, Brynja kept her palm pressed to Lyka's cheek. "I don't know what to do," she confessed softly. "What to do, what to think... nothing makes any sense anymore. First the king and Uncle Freyr turned cold, then my mother and aunt were sent away, then Grandmother became such a calculating stronger that I hardly know her anymore, and then... you." She gazed up at Lyka with wide, wondering eyes. "You are the strangest thing of all. An Asgardian who is not Asgardian, a daughter of the royal house and yet not, a diplomat and a sorceress when by right and birth you should just be any other court spy..." Brynja held Lyka tighter. "And yet somehow you, in all of your strangeness, are the only thing left in my life that makes even a shred of sense."

* * *

They returned to the camp the same way they had come, Loki managing even in the midst of his cold rage to put them back in the precise spot they had left from, inside the hospital tent. While Thor was still regaining his equilibrium, Loki turned on his heel and started to leave.

"Wait! Loki, wait."

Loki stopped in the tent's doorway. His hands were balled into fists at his side, and Thor knew better than to try to detain him by force. "Make it quick, your majesty. I have a war to prepare for, and the sooner I leave for Sessrumnir, the better it will be for us all."

"I know. That is why I'm asking you to _wait_."

"The murderer of my children's father and of Sif's lover, to say nothing of millions across the Nine Realms, is sitting in the golden hall, threatening to gain control of all of Vanaheim like a spider in a web, getting her fangs into every man in the city, and the king of Asgard wants me to _wait_?" Loki spun round on Thor, a blue Sakaarian dagger in each hand, and it was only through visible force of will that he restrained himself from physical assault. "Has she gotten to you already, brother?" he asked, eyeing Thor suspiciously as he approached.

"No," said Thor firmly, though with a shudder of revulsion at the resurfacing of a long-buried memory.

"You remember what I promised you."

"I do... but there is no danger of that yet." Carefully, Thor reached out and gripping Loki's shoulder. "I am not under her thrall, Loki. She has not come here, or sent her agents to harass us. I am still _me_." Thor smiled reassuringly, and after a few seconds, Loki relaxed. The daggers went away, and he shook his head.

"We can't wait, Thor. Once we reveal her presence in the capital, we're all going to end up at one another's throats. Every man over the age of puberty in the camp or in Volkang will be suspect. The women will end up incarcerating us all, if we're lucky, and slaughtering us if we're not."

"I don't intend to wait long. But we can't organize a campaign in the dead of night. We need rest, Loki."

His brother groaned. "Everyone is always telling me to rest."

"I'm just trying to get you to follow your son's advice." Thor shifted his hand to the side of Loki's neck, and was rewarded with a half-smile at the old filial caress. "We both need sleep, and the clear light of morning in which to plan. And," he continued, more sternly, "if you argue with me about this anymore, I will zap you into unconsciousness."

"...Right. You can actually do that now. Damn." Loki sighed. "Well, I'm not staying here."

"Well, as that's your bed, and there's nothing else to sleep on in your tent except the floor..." Thor trailed off, as Loki shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and looked everywhere except at him. "No, you cannot sleep in my tent tonight. Not unless you want to help me explain all of this to Sif." Loki went a shade or two paler. "That's what I thought." Thor ruffled Loki's hair and smiled. "But there's somewhere else you can still go, remember."

* * *

When Thor entered his tent, he found Sif at the center table, maps and charts and tablets spread out everywhere. She acknowledged his arrival with a briefly raised hand, but she was so engrossed with her work that she did not immediately look up.

Upon seeing her, Thor was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of emotions. He well remembered the havoc that Lorelei had wrought, not merely on the Nine Realms, but upon his own closest friends as well... a group that Lorelei had herself been a part of, for a time, when she and Loki had been lovers and when Sif had been betrothed to Haldor.

Haldor Anlafson, the Rock of Asgard. Thor felt the pang of an old, far-off hurt at the thought of him. Sif and Lorelei had always been at odds, in their youth, and when the young sorcerer used her powers to steal Haldor away, it seemed that she had taken him out of sheer spite. Six hundred years since his old comrade had fallen, enthralled to the last by Lorelei's magic. Thor had mourned him, as had all of Asgard, but Sif had loved Haldor with every fiber of her being, with the sort of passion that only the young can feel and believe in. Whatever love and loyalty Sif felt for Thor now, he instinctively knew, as one who had lost just such a love, that it was not one-tenth of the wild unconquerable emotion that she had felt for Haldor.

For centuries, Sif had refused to speak his name, preferring to cherish his memory in close silence, and cope with her grief in the time-honored tradition of warriors - by drinking and brawling and casually bedding whoever took her fancy. (For all that they both insisted otherwise, Thor knew that she and Loki had sought a guilty, furtive kind of solace with one another, in the wake of Lorelei's reign of slaughter. With the clarity of distance, Thor could not begrudge either of them the comfort he hoped they had found.) But she seemed to have found a kind of peace after retrieving Lorelei from Earth, and he was loath to break that peace and cause her more pain. More than ever, Thor thought he understood his parents, most especially his mother. Whatever plans Odin might have harbored towards Loki, and however stringently her own hands were tied, Frigga's desire had always been to protect Loki as much as she could, because he was her son and she loved him.

Looking at Sif, feeling a mounting dread of the moment when she would rise to greet him and compel him to speak, Thor understood more than ever the desire to protect and shield a loved one by hiding a painful truth, even when he never would have dreamed of trying to told her back from a battle.

But there was no question of not telling her. It was impossible, and more importantly, it was unthinkable. She was his friend and she was to be his wife, and she was a warrior of Asgard. She had a right to this pain.

"Sif."

"A moment, Thor, I believe I have—"

"I'm afraid this can't wait," he interrupted gently, crossing over to the table. When she looked up, clearly annoyed but willing to let him have his say before she took him to task for his impatience, Thor felt his heart swell within his chest, so full of love and terror that for a split second, he felt faint. He cupped Sif's cheek in his broad hand, and stooped to kiss her forehead and lay his cheek on her ebon hair. "I have to tell you now," he whispered, hugging her close, "before I lose my nerve."

Her hands rose to curl around his biceps. "My love?" The endearment was still new and strange and wonderful, and in a softer moment even the ferocious Lady Sif would have spoken it shyly, but she had sensed his mood, and was steeling herself for dire news. "Is it your brother?"

"No... no, Loki is well. As well as he can be, after..." Thor took a deep breath, inhaling the woodsy scent of her hair to steady himself, and then knelt before her chair and clasped her hands in his. "We know who controls the Vanir king."

He told her all they had discovered, gripping her hands tightly so that when he spoke the name, she would not immediately jump to her feet and reach for her sword.

Instead, she did... nothing. For several minutes, Sif simply sat, her fingers closing and reclosing on his hands, harder and harder each time, until Thor thought the small bones might break. Then, after a long silent interval, she began to shake violently. "He should have let me kill her," she whispered, venom dripping from her unsteady lips. "He should have let me kill her."

He held her while she raged and wept, and then made no protest when she dragged him to their bed and did her best to soothe her shredded heart in hours of love-making, until she finally fell asleep in Thor's arms from sheer exhaustion.

Eventually, he slept, too.

* * *

Brun didn't wake entirely, when she felt someone slip into bed beside her. The form and feel of the person, and the smell, were familiar and comforting, and instead of reaching for the dagger she always kept under her pillow, she rolled over to give the person more room, and when they were settled, rolled back. A sensation of completion, of peace, flowed over her like an inexorable wave, enfolding her in lithe strong arms. The dreams that enveloped her were as dark and soft as velvet. She had a fleeting impression of cascades of blond hair, long and shimmering, wrapping around her like a warm cocoon, and then the image slipped from her mind's grasp, and she slept, deep and dreamless and peaceful.

The soft drowsy chirps of early summer morning birdsong filtered into her subconscious, tenderly drawing her towards wakefulness, so she went. She opened her eyes and saw that in sleep, she had pillowed her cheek on a lean expanse of pale chest, dusted lightly with a few curls of dark hair, and ornamented with a rounded, oblong scar below the breastbone. Brun lifted a hand to the mark and traced it carefully. The skin was slightly raised, slightly shiny and smooth, a little pinker than the skin surrounding it, and neither gave her pause nor gave its owner pain. It was no more than a memento of a old battle now, long since fought and survived.

Brun frowned abruptly. The owner of this scar was not who her subconscious had believed had climbed into bed with her. More to the point, while she didn't at all mind having him in her bed, she knew very well that he would have done much better to have stayed in his own bed. "Lackey," she breathed, moving her hand to his face, "what are you doing here?"

"Sleeping, in theory," Loki replied, his voice soft and husky with a night's disuse. "And I didn't want to sleep alone."

"Do the healers know you're here?"

He opened his eyes reluctantly and nodded. "Vala poked her head in at some point. She glared at me and then left, so I assume she didn't object too much."

"Good. I was wondering if I'd have to drag your arse back to the hospital tent."

Loki chuckled and brushed his lips over her forehead. "Not today."


	57. Waking Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the quiet early morning, Loki and Valkyrie have a chance to confide in one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

“Are you feeling better?”

“I believe so. Still a little light-headed from time to time, but it’s lessening.” His hands on her arms and back were very gentle. “And you?”

“Better than I've got any right to be, after the amount I drank last night,” she admitted. “If it weren’t for Sif, I’d probably still be at the tavern, propping up the bar.”

“Your stamina for drink never ceases to astound me. And to terrify me. That tavern doesn’t even have a bar. It’s all tables and—”

Brun groaned and kissed him to shut him up. “Yeah, you’re feeling better.” He held her close when she would have pulled away, and his lips clung to hers a few extra seconds. “I’m glad. I was worried, after what happened yesterday. Are your kids okay?”

“Lyka seems to be absorbing the information well. Thialfi... not quite.” Loki grimaced. “Believe me, I know I handled the revelation of that family secret badly.”

“You still did better than Odin,” she said frankly. “You actually told your children the truth.” 

“So, my actions were poor, but my intentions were good?” He mulled over that. “That’s the story of my life, I suppose.”

“Ugh, you are such a drama queen.” Brun rolled onto her back and folded her arms behind her head. “Look, Loki, I’m sorry I overreacted the way I did yesterday. I wouldn’t have hurt your kids, you know that.” At least she hoped he knew that. 

“I never for a moment thought you would, at least not intentionally. You reacted the way I’d ideally expected. Overreaction would have been pulling a knife on them, which was my worst-case scenario. At which point I would’ve had to kill you.” He twisted gracefully onto his side, propping his cheek on his hand. “But I’m profoundly glad it didn’t come to that.”

“You would’ve killed me, to protect your kids?”

“Absolutely.” 

“...Good.” She turned and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. “That’s what a good parent is supposed to do. I should know. I killed a lot of people, to protect my boy.” There was an aching rawness to that last word. “My Nari....” 

Loki smiled softly and stroked his fingers through her long brown hair. “So that is his name. I had been wondering... What was he like?”

“You remind me of him, a little. Or at least I think you do, sometimes.”

“Oh? Should I be made nervous that your lover reminds you of your adopted son?”

“Not like that, ass.”

Loki chuckled. “How do you mean?”

“He was a small kid, when I knew him. Always looked younger than he really was, and he got picked on a lot, wherever we went.” 

“Yes... Yes, I certainly know something of what that’s like.” 

“So he was always trying to be tough. Trying to be big and bad and pretend like he didn’t care about anything. But he had a soft spot for people he considered his. His mother... me. Whichever of the pilots on Inge’s ship that he was hero-worshipping that day. And oh, Norns help you if you came between Nari Ingejarson and His People. And you, you’re the same way.” Brun laughed and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I think that’s part of why I love you. Even if you are a colossal fuck-up. Or hell, because of it.”

“I thought we’d decided that it was absolutely because I’m a fuck-up,” he teased. 

“Heh. Well, maybe.” 

“No, there’s no ‘maybe’ about it. In fact,” he continued, tugging Brun into her favorite spot: stretched out on top of him, with the crown of her head nestled beneath his chin, “I’d guess that that’s why you were attracted to me in the first place, and why we’ve managed to stay together as long as we have.” 

“‘As long as we have’? Loki, we’ve only been together for what, two months?” 

“As short as all that?” He let out a low whistle. “It feels like so much longer... as though you and I had been lovers for years... and Sakaar was a lifetime ago. Ragnarok and Hela sometimes feel like no more than a terrible dream. Well, at least until I go outside. And since my journey and return, I’m finding it... hard... to remember that my mother is truly dead.” 

Brun was silent for a minute or two. “I’m not sure if I miss those days or not. After the Fall, after Thrud died, and then after Inge threw me out. That... stage of grieving where your brain hasn’t caught up with reality yet, and unconsciously you still expect the person to be there when you go looking for them.” She traced his scar lightly as she gathered her further thoughts. “I don’t miss the disappointment of realizing that they’re gone for good. But those few seconds before I remember... I do miss that, sometimes. That innocence. It's been a long time since I've had that.” Then she smiled. “Although, you know, it’s weird – I could’ve sworn that you were a woman, who you came to bed.” 

“Hmm? As myself? Or as some other specific woman?” 

“As a blonde,” said Brun softly. “I’ve always been partial to blonde girls. Inge had gorgeous hair. So did Thrud.” She swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the man beneath her. “I think maybe that’s who I dreamed of. It’s been _decades_ since I dreamed of Thrud like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like, not a nightmare. Not getting trapped in a hell of a night-terror where I’m forced to watch her and the rest of the Valkyries die over and over and _over_... This was just... a feeling. Just warm and safe and familiar. And blonde hair.” 

“Definitely not me you were dreaming of, then,” Loki murmured. “As I am none of those things.”

“You’re warm, at least,” Brun replied, and then, reluctantly, sat up. “A little too warm for summer. So. What’s on your mind? No, don’t bullshit me, I _know_ you’re thinking of something.” 

“...Thor must be right, I _am_ becoming predictable.” He wriggled out from beneath her and rose from her bed, and went to the chair where he had draped his clothes the might before, rather than simply shifting out of them. Picking up his long Asgardian coat, Loki nervously kneaded the well-worn leather in his hands. “Oh, I hope it’s here... So, I’m sure you’ve heard by now that this wasn’t the first time I found myself at the foot of the Gjallarbru. I’d been there before.” He tapped his chest lightly. “And as before, I was turned away from the bridge leading to Valhalla... by a standing guard of Valkyries.”

Brun’s breath twisted so tightly in her throat that, for a few seconds, her vision wavered and swam. “That’s... it’s what the legends always said, isn’t it? That the Valkyries guarded the entrance to Valhalla. Always wondered if it’d be worth it to try and find out. ...Never had the courage, I guess.” 

“Something tells me that Thrud would have been very annoyed with you, if you had tried.” Loki dropped the coat and turned back towards her, offering Brun something in his outstretched hand.

She looked at the small, terribly familiar object lying in his palm. “I haven’t seen this in a thousand years," she whispered, reaching for the tiny, pristine dagger with sad reverence. “It was my promise gift to Thrud. I gave it to her at Yule, the year before...” It was silvery-sharp, with intricate knots etched delicately all over the surface of the blade. And around the smooth black handle was a dark brown braid: Brun’s hair, tied in a firm lover’s knot. “She went to her death wearing it next to her heart.”

“She must have been valiant beyond the power of words to tell.”

Brun’s hand clenched around the dagger, and the tears began to threaten. “How did you _get_ this?”

“Thrud gave it to me, to give to you.” 

At that, Brun bowed her head, and for several minutes she stayed like that, simply sobbing quietly. Loki climbed back into bed and sat down beside her, not touching her, but close enough for her to reach out to him for comfort, if she chose to. 

Eventually, every tear she had left wrung out of her, she leaned against him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Loki gently tipped her face up and pressed a soft, warm kiss to her lips. “That was from her, as well.”

The lump that had been easing back down her throat suddenly sprang up again. “Took your damned sweet time about passing both of these along, you know,” she muttered, digging her shoulder into his ribs.

“I didn’t intend to hold onto it for dramatic emphasis, if that’s what you’re implying. There wasn’t time during the afternoon, and then after what Thor and I discovered last might...”

Brun wiped her damp, mottled face on the sheets. “Which was...?” she prompted.

“We went back to the cave, just briefly. I wanted to examine the portal. But in doing so, we discovered who is responsible for the unrest in the capital.” Loki’s face darkened, but this time, he kept his temper. “It’s... someone we’ve dealt with before, Thor and Sif and me. Someone who Odin dealt with far too leniently, given her crimes. Both against the Nine Realms, and against the royal household." 

“Yeah, well.” Brun laid Thrud’s little relic reverently on the bedside table. “Your old man wasn’t exactly known for his proportional responses to shit.” 

Loki blinked a few times. “As understatements go...”

“Who is she?” 

It took Loki some time to explain about Lorelei – his own history with her, the hurts she had caused his friends and family, and the swathe of destruction she had once cut through the realms, using the millions of men she had seduced with little more than her voice and her touch. “But she never bothered to use them on me,” Loki finished, using much the same words to Brun as he had to Sif, a week before. “I was good enough to bed and lead around for a time, but in the end, the second son of Asgard wasn’t worth her time.”

A frown of utter perplexity crossed Brun’s face. “Okay, that’s strange.”

“What, the idea of someone dumping me for my brother? Not that strange at all, sad to say—”

“No, ass. Her powers. I’ve encountered them before. Something like them, at least. Nari had a power like that.”

Loki stilled. “In what way? Was it inherited from his mother?”

“I don’t think so, not exactly. Inge could sing, and she could use sorcery, but she couldn’t combine them the way Nari could. He could charm people so effortlessly with just a smile and a song. I used to joke to Inge that he was the skald Bragi, reincarnated.”

“I don’t doubt it, with a talent like that,” said Loki, a little tightly. “Perhaps this Inge of yours and Lorelei were related.”

Brun stared at him in horror. “Oh... oh, that’s a terrible thought... Loki.”

“Hmm?” 

“What if Lorelei _did_ try using her magic on you, but it just... didn’t work?”

“Unlikely. She was a highly accomplished practitioner, even at that age. Any man she cast her voice upon, fell under her spell.”

“Any typical man, maybe.”

“‘There are no other men like me,’” Loki muttered. His words were lanced through with a bitterness that Brun could not trace to its source. “But you’re not precisely wrong, are you? I am _not_ a typical Asgardian male. Really, I’m none of those things.”

Clearly, he still thought that was something to be regretted. 

“No,” Brun said, “you’re not.” She slid a hand up his bare arm, to his shoulder, and then to his cheek. “Loki, look at me.” At the direct command, she felt him tremble like a plucked string under her touch, and he did as she ordered, his dark brows drawn together in nervous confusion. While she studied his face, he picked at his hands in idle worry. 

Brun wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, or even why she had asked. But it was still early morning, and everything that had happened since she had woken – since yesterday – felt like a dream, and she wondered if she was anticipating some sort of vision or revelation, not unlike what he had gone to Niflheim to find. After all, there was the dagger she had given Thrud a millennium before, which had burned along with Thrud and all the other Valkyries, so why shouldn’t she expect to see a vision of her dead lover? 

All she saw, though, was Loki. 

And maybe that was revelation enough. 

She leaned forward and kissed him slowly. He sighed into her mouth and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into the hollow made by his crossed legs. The temperature outside the tent was rising as the sun climbed higher, and Loki still felt too hot against her skin, but it no longer frightened her. He wasn't feverish, or alien. It was simply how he was. 

“Let me see you,” Brun muttered between increasingly eager kisses. “Not the Jotunn you, the – female you.” He stilled and drew back, wide-eyed. “Please. I mean, if you’re okay with that. If you’re feeling like that, today. If you want to.”

“I do! I do, I do, I...” Loki flushed bright-red and buried his face in Brun’s shoulder. She stroked his back and hair, a little worried that she had touched an unwelcome nerve. 

Loki took a few deep breaths and then sat back up, kissing her shoulder as he straightened. “Sorry. You just... took me by surprise. You didn’t seem interested in my feminine side, when I first showed it to you.”

“It wasn’t exactly an opportune moment. And... come on,” she grinned. “Of _course_ I’m interested.”

Her voice dropped an octave in anticipation, and Loki growled softly. “If you’re sure... it’s been years. Literally years, since I was a woman, with another woman.”

“Really? You mean you didn’t... on Sakaar?” As Brun ran her fingers through Loki’s hair, it wavered and grew even longer and soft under her touch, though the braided love-lock at his temple – her temple – with its small silver bead carved with runes, remained the same. 

“I actively _avoided_ presenting as a woman on Sakaar,” Loki murmured, holding up a hand grown narrow and tapered. The persistent low growl was gone from her voice, replaced by a warm velvety tone that had an equally devastating effect on Brun’s nervous system. “I didn’t know how long I was going to be stuck there, and I didn’t want to show all my cards at once. Besides, I – _oh_ ," she gasped, going limp in Brun’s arms as her lover’s mouth descended on her breasts. “It’s the most effective disguise I have.”

“It’s not a disguise,” Brun retorted, pushing Loki onto her back among the pillows. “It’s you.”

“Well, yes,” Loki drawled, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “But don’t go spreading that around.”


	58. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki dreams of the women he loves. But it's only a dream... isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and quiet chapter to tide everyone over ~~and assuage my guilt at not posting in over a week~~ while I plot out how best to wrap things up and still leave you all screaming for more. *evil grin*
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

He was standing in, of all places, an inn cellar. The light was dim but the smell of oak barrels, the sharp sting of raw young wine, and the heady velvety smoothness of mead, were all unmistakable, as was the faraway sound of merriment. Loki was sure he recognized the place – it was the tavern that service the village and garrison at the southern-most outskirts of Asgard's capital city. He had good reason to know it as well as he did. It was the tavern where one end of the Vanaheim portal had been laid, long ago. He had used it in times of great stress, to get form the palace wine-cellar to the tavern down the lane from where his lovers and children had lived. And more than once, he and Sigyn had ridden here, quite leisurely, and taken rooms, to allow him some plausible cover for spending more than a few hours in the village.

“There were rumors about us long before you ever gave me a second thought.”

Loki gasped and spun around, hunting for the speaker. The voice had punched him directly below the heart. “Sigyn?” he whispered hoarsely. “Sigyn, my love, _where are you?_ ”

“She’s gone, Loki,” said another voice – Frigga’s, this time. “Because of you.”

“No!” Loki tried to summon mage light to his hands, to find the source of the voices, but nothing happened. “No, not because of me. Not this. Not her.”

And then, a voice out of his boyhood nightmares. “Why should she be any different from anyone else?”

The torches in the cellar’s wall brackets flared to life with a sudden whoosh of light and heat that made Loki stumble, and then _she_ was there. "Lorelei."

She looked exactly as she had the last time he had laid eyes on her, in his guise as Odin, when he had recommitted her to Asgard’s dungeons, beautiful as a hand-crafted blade and utterly defiant. Her soft full lips stretched into a hard smile. “Hello, sweet.”

“Not so sweet anymore,” he growled, shifting into a defensive stance. “No thanks to you, you murderous sorcerer.”

“Oh, now that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? After all, what do you call yourself?” He gritted his teeth against a useless retort, and she smirked at him. “Savior of Asgard? Prince, politician, lover and father? Oh-so-respectable and stable and satisfying... and you know it can’t last for long.”

“No, that's—”

“Don’t be so naive,” Lorelei snapped. “ _Everyone_ leaves you, Loki. Me, your lovers, your wife, your mother, and you know the Valkyrie will, too. Thor will get tired of humoring your histrionics. Lyka has already given her heart to someone – she won’t want to leave her new love for her pathetic pretend foster father. And Thialfi, well.” She smirked in the old way, as though she was looking down at something from a lower order of life. “I’d watch your back around him from now on, sweet prince. Like father, like son, after all.”

He snarled and called for a dagger. When none appeared, he launched himself at her, fingers curled into talons.

With a snap, the scene before him changed. The wine cellar was gone, and so was Lorelei. Instead, he was back in the cave, with the portal open before him. Instead of the face it normally presented to him, a swirling vortex of blue-white and gold, now he could clearly see another landscape. 

The doorway opened onto a precipice, and beyond it, the sky above and the river below were dark and unfamiliar. Across the chasm, he saw a vaguely-remembered figure wavering into clarity. “Sigyn,” he whispered. “Is this a dream?”

“No, Loki.” Her voice carried to his ear as though she stood right beside him. “I am here.”

Something warm and sharp exploded inside his chest. “Asgard is gone. Mother... the Allfather... they’re all dead.”

Sigyn seemed to waver on the other side. “Are you dead, too?”

“No!” He cast caution aside and stepped through the portal, onto the precipice, and stretched his arm out into the chasm, beckoning to her. “Where are you? I will find you!”

“Where are _you_?” she called, having to shout as the wind rose, whipping her pale hair across her face. 

He tried to shout a reply, but the dark wind engulfed Sigyn, and she vanished. “No!” Loki lunged forward, but the wind caught him full in the chest with the force of a battering ram, hurling him backwards through the portal. He felt the stone floor of the cave slam against his back—

Loki’s eyes snapped open, her heart pounding. For a few seconds, she could neither move nor speak, and while the grip of sleep faded she lay there, drenched in sweat and trembling with barely-controlled panic.

When she could move, she sat up with a jerk and found herself drenched in sweat, alone in Brun’s bed. From the light outside and the sounds of the camp around her, it was well into midday. “A dream,” Loki murmured, shifting back to his male form (more for ease of using the chamber pot than from any desire to present one way or the other). “Only a dream this time.” He shoved the chamber pot back under the bed and dragged his hands over his face and through his hair. “I swear, my brain wants me dead...”

His nose caught the scent of food, and he saw a covered platter on the center table, and a note propped against a pitcher. 

_‘Thor said you liked bacon.’ - B._

He _did_ like bacon, and as his stomach was loudly reminding him, he hadn’t eaten a thing in nearly two days. No wonder he was feeling light-headed and ungrounded. He tore into the bacon and bread and cheese, and drank the cider thirstily. One his hunger was blunted, though, his mind flipped back to the dream. 

It was only that, Loki felt sure. Only a dream. It had none of the sour, vomit-tinged taste of a vision of what was to come – he’d had those only rarely in his life, and he had no desire to repeat the experience – and it was most definitely not the result of someone reaching into his mind and toying with his memories and his subconscious and his perception of reality.

He knew what that felt like, too.

Loki swallowed a last mouthful with a grimace. Abandoning the crumbs of his breakfast, he called water into the empty wash basin. What he wanted most was a proper bath – something deep and hot and disgustingly luxurious, pleasantly scented, with someone to wash his hair for him... all right, so there was _one_ thing about Sakaar that he genuinely missed – but he’d made do with worse than a basin and ewer in his life. 

Yes, he knew what it felt like, to have your brain turned inside out. And as biting as it had been to have Lorelei rubbing his nose in his abandonments, it had been a pleasant amble through the park, compared to some of the things that Loki had endured, in recent years. 

All to the better. If he saw even an inkling of proof that Lorelei had somehow acquired that power, Loki would be _gone_ , and for good this time, and the rest of them be da—

He stared at his hands, half-submerged in the water of the basin, and felt a chill settle into his bones. “No,” he muttered to himself, shaken. “I suppose ‘gone’ isn't an option, anymore.”


	59. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearts are wrung, minds are confused, and some new faces appear at the eleventh hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may have noticed that the "?" in the number of chapters has changed to an actual number! Yes, there will be two more chapters after this one, and then TCW will be **complete**. It's been a wild six months. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Quietly, with a stealth born of a lifetime of hunting trips and a childhood full of solitary clandestine raids of the castle pantry, Brynja slipped into her tent. Though it was past mid-morning and getting on towards noon, Lyka was still fast asleep, and Brynja was most anxious not to wake her, whatever her grandmother chose to think and say about indolent, decadent, debauched Asgardians.

Brynja leaned over the bed and smiled dreamily to herself as she lightly brushed a stand of pale yellow hair from Lyka's forehead. "Debauched' was a little strong, perhaps, but – after the night she and Lyka had spent together – not at all inaccurate.

The first part of the night, at least. That had been glorious. But then when they had exhausted one another, and tried to sleep, Lyka's slumber had been deeply troubled. From midnight to dawn, she had been beset with dreams. Unsettling dreams, that was all Brynja knew, for it was all that Lyka would tell her. 'Just hold me,' she had murmured, burrowing her face into Brynja's neck.

So Brynja had held her, and found a half-sleep of her own until the sun came up, when her duty required her to rise. But she so hated to leave the bed. Lyka had finally fallen into a deep, untroubled sleep, and she was soft and warm and so perfectly fitted to the circle of Brynja's arms...

Her smile faded, and the shy happy glow in her chest faded into something tight and sad. It wasn't fair. It simply... was not fair. She had fallen so hard for this regal, passionate Asgardian, and the revelation of her true heritage had made no impression on Brynja's heart, but for all of that, and for all that she knew that Lyka was at least a little fond of her, she had no expectations of Lyka remaining behind on Vanaheim when the rest of her people eventually continued on their way.

And even though she longed for Lyka to stay, another part of her felt a deep, twisting guilt at the mere thought.

_If Lyka stays with me, then Thialfi would be alone._

The young healer, whom to Brynja's surprise she rather liked, had no one else but his sister. There was the prince, but that relationship seemed tentative and brittle at best. Brynja pressed her lips together as a lump rose in her throat. She so envied the effortless closeness of the Haraldsborns. She had no siblings or cousins of her own, and the people she had grown up with had, for the most part, turned their backs on her, just as her great-grandfather had.

She thought of Njord, and of her great-uncle Freyr, both of whom had initially treated her decision to live as a woman with dignity and kindness, and who had then so cruelly turned her out, and then thrust away the very idea of them. The upheaval in Sessrumnir, whatever it was, had torn her family apart.

_I will not be the means of doing the same to another family, not of the woman whom I... that I could grow to love. She is all he has._

A small sigh signaled that Lyka was finally waking. Brynja's smile and lightness of heart returned, and she bent to kiss her lover...

"Brynja! Granddaughter, where are you?" There was a sharp rap on the frame of the tent. "I need your help!"

Brynja gritted her teeth. "I will be right out, Grandmother," she called.

"Don't be long," snapped the old woman, and stalked off.

"...Perhaps I should go with the Asgardians instead," Brynja muttered to herself.

"Hmm?" Lyka stretched and yawned and smiled sleepily up at her. "What was that?"

"Nothing." Brynja stroked her cheek lightly with her sword-callused fingertips. "Did you sleep well?"

"Eventually. Such strange dreams... but yes, I got some rest."

"Good. Grandmother needs me for something. I'll be back in a few minutes. And I'll bring you some breakfast--"

Lyka reached up and pulled her down for a long, drowsy-warm kiss. "Hurry back," she murmured.

* * *

Thialfi stumbled and fell to his knees. It was nothing, really, he had just tripped over something in the grass. He turned and looked down, and to his surprise, saw a small green-and-gold snake. "Did I hurt you, little one?" the small boy murmured, kneeling down to run a gentle finger over the creature's head and back. "Here, let me make it better. Lyka, come look..."

Thialfi tumbled from the horse's back and hit the ground hard. The air flew out of his lungs, and for a few moments, he lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, unable to breathe, unable to move. "It may be time to face facts," Sigyn said, helping him to uncurl and checking to make sure that no bones were broken, "that you are just not a rider, my lad."

It hurt to breathe, but not too terribly much. "No, I have to learn," the teenager coughed.

"You've avoided it for decades. Why now?"

"In case something happens to Lyka. If she's ever taken again." He looked at his teacher with wide, terrified eyes. "Where is she? Lyka? Lyka!"

"It's all right," Sigyn assured him, smoothing his hair gently, only now it wasn't Sigyn, but Frigga, looking at him with wisdom and kindness and sadness and love, all warring on her face. "It's all right, child. She'll be here soon. You just have to be patient."

Be patient. Be patient. The words echoed so strangely in his head, grew so loud that he had to screw his eyes shut and slam his hands over his ears to blot out the noise...

He was standing in a vast chamber, that seemed to be made of nothing but gold. The flagstones beneath his feet shone yellow, the draperies framing the immense windows flowed down like rivers of precious molten metal, puddling on the floor. He could not see outside; his eyes kept sliding away, towards a shadowed corner, where something glinted pale and smooth.

"Go and look."

Thialfi turned and saw a dark-haired man standing in the center of the room. He was tall and lean, wrapped in a green cloak, with pale, aquiline features that were... smudged, somehow, and not very discernible. But his voice sounded familiar.

"Go and see," the man urged.

So Thialfi approached the darkened corner, feeling more curious than cautious. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't golden. Instead, it was a silvery polished mirror. He looked, but it wasn't his face looking back. The gold was _inside_ the mirror - golden-blond hair, and a face that Thialfi knew. It wasn't his face, but he knew that face...

Thialfi opened his eyes, and for a moment, all he saw was green.

"Wha...?"

The green moved, and an enormous face looked down at him. "Baby God slept good?" Hulk rumbled. "No bad dreams?"

"Uh..." Thialfi scrubbed a hand over his face and through his tousled brown curls, trying to massage some feeling back into his cheek. "Yes, I... yes, I slept very well. No bad dreams." His dreams had been _bizarre_ and somewhat unsettling, but not actively bad. Mostly old memories all jumbled together... and a few faces he couldn't quite put his finger on. He did feel very well-rested, at least.

Hulk's chest swelled with pride. "Hulk helped."

"You did, yes." Thialfi smiled slightly. "Thank you." He yawned and wriggled out of the crook of Hulk's elbow. "Did anyone come in while I was sleeping?" he asked, spying the remains of what looked like the Hulk's breakfast.

"Angry Girl." Hulk's expression darkened. "Wanted to talk. Hulk no talk. So Angry Girl goes away again."

Thialfi picked up a hunk of bread that was a good size for him but only a morsel to his companion, and gnawed on it thoughtfully. "You're not going to stop speaking to her forever, surely. She cares about you."

Hulk replied with a noncommittal grunt. He was clearly unconvinced. Thialfi ate his breakfast in silence.

"Thank you for taking care of me last night," he said when he was done, brushing the bread crumbs from his tunic. "I have to go back to the camp now... you should come with me."

"No."

"Please?" Thialfi hesitated, then reached out and laid his hand on Hulk's arm. He still felt small beside the enormous creature, but the fear of the night before had vanished. The skin below his palm felt warm and alive, not monstrous. "You can't stay in here forever."

"Uh huh."

Thialfi grinned. "Nuh uh. For one thing, you're going to get very bored. And for another thing... my friend, I think that you are far less feared than you believe."

"No. Thor, Angry Girl, Puny God. All like Banner better."

"Perhaps they like Banner better because they know Banner better."

Hulk hesitated. Then, "Fine." The room shook as he got to his feet. "Hulk goes with Baby God."

Thialfi patted his arm and groaned inwardly. Lyka was going to have a marvelous time with _that_ nickname, when she heard it.

He had intended to skirt around the far edge of the camp, by the river, and follow the bank up to the hospital tent. But as they approached the tents, they heard a serious of shouts, and saw people crowding up near the royal encampment. "I hope nothing's happened," Thialfi said, shading his eyes with his hand to try and see better. "Can you--ulp!"

Hulk carefully settled Thialfi on his shoulder. "Better view!" he grinned.

"Y-yes," Thialfi agreed, his heart hammering the back of his ribs. "Much better. Well? Let's go see what's afoot."

* * *

With slow, measured motions, Loki washed his arms and chest with the water in the basin and a chunk of soap that Brun had stolen from the ship’s showers. Thinking of Brun always made him try to fit words to his thoughts, but he found it almost impossible to describe in language the woman who had, against all odds, wormed her way – or punched her way – into his heart. Where his Valkyrie was concerned, his silver tongue failed him. And where their love affair was concerned... well, if he was forced to be truthful, if only to himself, he had to admit that he didn’t like to look at it too closely.

For fear of it turning sour under too much scrutiny, and crumbing to dust.

And after everything that had happened... and with all the things he feared were coming... he found himself beginning to wonder if it would end as all his love affairs did: with him alone.

_Everyone leaves me._

Loki conjured a washcloth and scrubbed vigorously at the slick pink scar tissue ornamenting the base of his sternum.

The part of his dream that had been about Sigyn... that haunted him. It had felt real. More real, at least, than his encounter with Lorelei.

_“Where are you?”_

_“Where are **you**?”_

It felt like something that had happened, that _could_ happen, and not a cruel manifestation of his own mind as it tried to torment him. He tried to consider what Brun had told him last night, about her lovely lost stepson and the boy's mother, who had valued her child's well-being over the chance to keep her lover. He wanted to mull it all over, try to piece it together in a way that made sense, but his mind shied away from the possibility like a horse away from fire.

He couldn't begin to fathom that. Not yet. He wasn't ready.

There was some sort of commotion coming from near Volkang, and people hurrying on the footpath that went past Brun's tent to go and see what it was. Loki stayed put. He felt woozy and light-headed, as he had the night before. Worried that there was some lingering effect of his ill-considered rapid teleportation of Thor to the mountain cave and back, Loki closed his eyes and sent seidr inside himself for the first time since...

"No," he gasped, falling to his knees. Quickly, he pulled a bit of extra energy from the land and sent a searching spell deep within himself, hunting for the fragments of the spells that the healers had blasted away. Most of them were unimportant, or could be recast or repaired later, as he came across them. Some had been linked to Asgard and were utterly gone, or were based on Earth and no longer mattered.

But the pocket dimension where he stored things that were too dangerous to retain in his own space... where he had hidden the Tesseract... the spell that bound him to that folded bit of reality, _that_ , he needed to get back.

"Where is it, where the fuck is it..." He drove the spell even deeper, grimacing at the cramping pain of turning his magic on himself, hunting for anything, a fragment, a crumb of the old connection... "Ah!"

His fingers digging into the soil beneath the strewn carpets, Loki called up more seidr and spun it into a strong thread, as a woman with a spindle twisted fibers into yarn, and then hardened and bent the end into a hook and cast the thread into the aether as he would a fishing line. The hook caught the ragged tail of what remained of the link to his treasure chest, and with agonized care he pulled it back, inch by metaphysical inch, until he could externalize the scrap and cup it, shuddering, in the bowl of his hands.

Loki breathed on the bit of spell, coaxing the ember of it back to life, feeding it bits of atomic energy as well seidr to strengthen it. When it finally burst into a cheeky green flame in his palms, and he felt the connection to the pocket dimension flare back to life, he could have sobbed from relief.

Shakily, he rose to his feet again, and set about washing the rest of himself.

"Thank the Norns she wanted me as a woman last night," Loki muttered, sluicing the dirt from beneath his fingernails, "since they obliterated all my contraceptive precautions..." Then his jaw dropped in horror when he remembered that his own was not the only fertility that he had been using magic to curtail...

"Loki?" There was a brief rap at the door of the tent to accompany Sif's voice. "Are you well?"

"Well, awake and upright," he replied, grabbing a towel. "Thought not exactly decent."

"When have you ever been decent?" Sif retorted tiredly, as she ducked inside.

She looked exhausted, worn and drawn. Loki glanced over her with some concern. “I suppose you took the revelation as well as could be expected, since you are still here?”

Sif let out a short, sharp huff. “Here, yes. Well... I think Thor was trying to ride me into unconsciousness last night, in hopes that I would sleep.”

“A time-honored method. Did it work?”

“Not really. You?”

“I slept... though not well.” His jaw tensed. “I dreamed of her.” _And of Sigyn,_ he did not say.

Sif nodded. “We do have our griefs in common.”

“We do. It is not a comfortable bond to have.”

“No... it is not. But it is there.”

“Mm. Sometimes I think we ought to have eloped when we were young and had the chance. We would have been abhorrent to each other for the next six centuries, but it probably would’ve worked out, eventually.” He studied her face while he dried his hands. “Tell me truthfully, Sif, does it trouble you, having to face her now that you are betrothed to my brother?” His lips were touched by a bitter smile, that mocked his own pain as well as hers. “Do you fear losing another man to Lorelei?”

Sif’s composure wavered. Only for a second, but he was looking for it. “Yes,” she said quietly. Then, “Just as much as you fear that the Valkyrie will leave you, as Sigyn did.”

Loki cringed, burned by her words. But he formed an easy smile and put it on for her. “Oh, everyone leaves me eventually. Everyone I love. I’m used to it. You would think I would know better by now, and be satisfied... but that has never been my way.” He lifted his bare shoulders in an eloquent shrug. “And yet, my heart continues to betray me.”

“Perhaps your heart has the right way of things.”

He could only imagine the look on his face at that. Probably a mix of confusion, suspicion, and hesitation. Though he did not know it, there was hope there, too. It was a poignant combination. “How?”

“We... have all lost people that we love. You, me, Thor. Brun. Your children. We have all been left behind, and left alone. And yet sometimes, somehow... people come back.” Sif drew in a deep breath, held it for a second or two, and then continued, with a hurried sort of firmness that told Loki just how tightly her nerves were drawn. “We find the people we need, when we need them.”

“It’s a pretty fantasy,” said Loki, after a moment. “But where were the people I needed, when Father fell into the Odinsleep? When I was imprisoned in Asgard’s dungeons, and didn’t speak to a soul for a year?”

“We were there, Loki. And if we failed to help you, it was at least partly because we weren’t given a chance to.” She met his eyes squarely. She would say the apology aloud, if he demanded it, and Loki badly wanted to hear it, but something in him shied away from the very idea. “And yet,” Sif continued, after a long time in which the two of them simply stood there in painful silence and looked at each other, “you were there when I needed you. When Haldor died... you opened your arms and your bed to me.”

“I remember,” he murmured hoarsely.

_She wiped the tears from his face and kissed his lips. It was a restrained caress, but he could feel the want humming under her skin. “I need, for one night, for you to pretend that I mean something to you. Something more than a shield-friend to trade barbs with. I need to feel... that someone cares whether I am alive or dead.”_

_“But... Thor? Surely he—”_

_“I traded Haldor’s life for your brother’s. I can’t go to him for this... I can’t.”_

_Loki let out a helpless little sound and slid his fingers into Sif’s hair. “Then I am here,” he promised softly._

“It was the most selfless thing I have ever known anyone to do,” Sif said, “and you did this favor for me.”

“Yes...” Loki pressed his lips together and swallowed. “Well, I suppose I needed the same things you did, that night. To be...” He hesitated, and then shrugged sheepishly. “Cherished.”

His cheeks flared with embarrassment, but Sif only nodded. “No matter what happens this time, we have to end Lorelei here. I will not leave Vanaheim until I have slain her. And... if I fail, Loki, I ask you to swear to do it for me.”

A chilly emotion swept over him, and it took him a moment to recognize it as a rather awful sort of pride. “Oh, fear not, my lady. I was planning to do that anyway. In fact, I’m mildly insulted that you didn’t expect it of me already.”

She refused to rise to his bait. “I did. I’ve always known that you suffered at her hands, though until we came here, I didn’t know how deeply her actions wounded you. But you have as much desire for her death as I do, and... I am satisfied with that.”

Loki dug his fingertips anxiously into the palm of his opposite hand. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing Sif this vulnerable and... it scared him. More than a little, and more than he was comfortable admitting. But even when Haldor had died and she had come to Loki’s bed, she hadn’t been this unmoored. Oh, she had been devastated, of that, he had never been in doubt, and after they’d taken what they needed from each other, Sif had gone on to find other coping mechanisms for working through her grief, all of them befitting a warrior in mourning and all of them still probably more healthy than Loki's methods.

But he had been the one to dissolve into tears in terror at the idea of a future without his lovers. Not Sif. Their friendship, in the times when they had been friends rather than lovers or enemies, had always been three parts camaraderie, two parts teeth, and it was something he deeply missed.

He liked being able to rely on Sif. It was comforting, the way having Thor nearby to lean on, if necessary, was a comfort. And the possibility of losing both of those sources of security...

“Well, I can’t say that I exactly _relish_ the thought of Thor being killed now, after everything he’s already survived. Or of you sobbing on my shoulder while my brother’s body burns on a pyre,” said Loki, moving to stand before her with a sour smile and serious eyes. His tone was as light and soft as ash; if there was any time for his customary dark humour, now was that time, but he found he had no stomach for jokes. He clasped Sif’s upper arms lightly. “We will put an end to this,” he promised. “And if by some foul design we do _not_... you will not be left alone, Lady Sif.”

Her smile was lopsided but grateful. “I hardly know you when you’re like this...”

“Like what, naked?”

“ _No_. Like... I keep expecting the old Loki to appear in a puff of smoke. Loki the Trickster, the one with mischief in his eyes and blood on his knife. I know that Loki. But you... Loki the Diplomat, Loki the Father, Loki the responsible and well-respected adviser to the king... I do not know you.”

“Well, I can hardly blame you for that,” Loki confessed, tipping his head to one side slightly and giving her a rueful smile. “I barely know myself. But fear not, sister – for so I may call you now, I think,” he added, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “the trickster is still very much here.”

“I am glad to hear it. Although,” she continued, returning his apologetic smile, “it was actually the diplomat who I came to fetch. There are strangers in the camp, and Thor requires your expertise.”

“Who are they?”

“Freya’s daughters.”

Loki started. “The ones Njord sent to Noatun, in the far south?”

“The same. They arrived this morning without warning – even Heimdall was taken by surprise – and they were taken aback by the Asgardian presence here.”

“I can’t blame them for that...”

“And Freya is refusing to see them, which has not improved their mood. Thor asks that you come and act as a mediator.”

“You know,” said Loki dryly, “I’m probably not the best person here to send to negotiate inter-family problems.”

“I agree,” Sif replied, equally dryly, “but as your daughter Lyka is standing with Brynja in support already, it might be as well to show solidarity in the royal family.”

“Oh, all _right_.” He heaved a mighty sigh. “I suppose that means I’ll have to put clothes on.”


	60. The One Who Was Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki meets Freya's daughters, and the three of them must confront Councilor Freya together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done... almost _done_... 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

"Did you know what the healers planned to do to me?" Loki asked as they hurried to the field at the base of the slight rise that constituted the unofficial border between the royal encampment and the village of Volkang.

Sif frowned. "No, Thor and I were not present for most of your treatment." She dodged around a gladiator carrying firewood. "Why, what did they do?"

"Eir - I can only assume it was Eir, since none of the other healers are experienced or powerful enough - broke the links between me and, oh, every static spell I've ever cast. Granted, it probably saved my life, but no one bothered to tell me afterwards, and when I reached for my own magic..." Loki shuddered. "Well, it was something of a shock."

"I am surprised that Eir would have taken such an action without Thor's approval. But we were not there any no doubt she needed to act quickly--"

"Where were you?"

"What?"

"According to everyone here, I was apparently on my death bed, so if you and Thor weren't there, where were you?"

Sif glanced at him with high spots of color on her cheeks. "Elsewhere," she muttered, and hurried on.

Loki stopped dead in his tracks on the path, and laughed. "Well, that's not a _bad_ way of handling stress."

But as he followed her, he wondered, and worried. He had lost so many spells, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to replace them in time. Or in secret.

They skidded down the grassy slope to the field and found the populace of Volkang in chaos. Loki saw warriors arming themselves, horses and fortifications being mobilized, parents bundling children and supplies away towards the river. Skanda, the headwoman, was directing the furor as best she could, with Thor, Brun, Heimdall and Korg all running interference and damage control between the camp and the village. Loki looked around in astonishment. "All this unrest for two Vanir noblewomen?"

"It wasn't the daughters that caused the uproar," said Brun, coming to join them. "It was Freya herself. They rode into the village this morning and as soon as she saw them, she lost her damn mind. Nice of you to join us, by the way, Your Highness,” she added, sparing Loki a strained smile. “Enjoy your nap?”

“Oh, thoroughly. But this, this is all... very messy.”

“You could say that,” she agreed tightly. "They came thundering in about mid-morning, horses lathered and blown, both women filthy - looked like they'd ridden non-stop for days, straight north - and Heimdall never saw them coming."

Loki's eyes widened. "Really. That is... alarming."

"That is an understatement," said Sif grimly.

Loki agreed, but for very different reasons. His mind darted off like a dog after a hare. _I wonder..._ "And then the upset?"

"They demanded to see their mother."

"That was it?"

"Apparently. The second Freya laid eyes on them she started screaming bloody murder, demanded that they be taken into custody as traitors - and when her own warriors hesitated, she attacked them with spells and then ordered Skanda to begin preparing for war. And you really didn't hear any of that? Since when do you sleep like the dead?"

"Since coming back from the land of the dead, apparently. Where are they now?"

Brun turned, scanned the field, and then pointed to a pair of tall, exhausted-looking Vanir women standing out of the way of the general disorder. With them was another, younger Vanir, her brown hair in braids, and a blonde girl comforting her. "It's all been a bit much for your daughter's girlfriend."

"I can relate," said Loki. Then, quietly, "Lyka. Come here."

His voice carried to her ear alone, as he had intended, and he saw her jump and look around wildly for who had spoken. When she saw him, he raised a hand and beckoned.

While she made her way to him, Thor and Heimdall came up the hill, both of them looking tired and harried. Heimdall, in particular, looked as though the situation had taken a toll on him.

Thor grasped his brother's shoulder briefly and then pulled Sif into a weary hug. Loki pulled Heimdall aside and conferred with him for a minute or two, and then returned to Thor’s side. “Something is wrong,” he announced.

Thor gritted his teeth. “Thank you, Loki, I hadn’t realized that already.”

“Well, you sent for me to help.”

“If this is your idea of helping, you can go back to bed.”

“Don’t tempt me, brother.” Loki turned as Lyka approached him, a little warily. He started to speak, and then paused, and pulled her into a brief, tight hug. “Are you well, child? You look ill.”

“I’m fine,” Lyka said, a little shortly, and then offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thialfi went off somewhere on his own, and then... well, I slept badly, that is all.”

Loki frowned and looked around for his foster son, but there was no sign of the lanky curly-haired youth in the crowd. “But you were not alone?"

"No, I-I was with Brynja."

"And she is looking after you?” Lyka blushed, but nodded. “Good. I saw that you were with her mother and aunt. Were they decent to you?"

"Yes."

"Then carry a message to them for me." Loki looked back across the field, and this time, one of the women looked up and locked eyes with him. He felt a shiver of recognition, but from where, he could not say. "It’s time I met the Freyasdottirs.”

* * *

Brynja brought Loki and her kinswomen into her own tent, and tentatively made the formal introductions. Loki had specifically asked Lyka to be present as well, but she had declined, preferring instead to wait where her brother could find her.

The Freyasdottirs, Gefjun and Mardoll, were tall, broad, statuesque women who stood head and shoulders taller than their mother and could easily look Loki in the eye without craning their necks, though the younger, Mardoll, was perhaps an inch shorter than her sister. Despite their obvious worry and exhaustion and their mud-spattered riding leathers, they were handsome women. They could easily have passed for Valkyries - certainly for the Valkyries that Loki and his brother had imagined in their boyhood, who were women all physically larger than life. He knew a bit better now, though the one Valkyrie he did know was still more than capable of tossing him over her shoulder, despite her short stature.

"It's an honor to finally meet you," said Loki, calling upon all of his cultivated charm and good manners. "Your uncle Freyr always spoke very highly of you, but for some reason, you were never at court when my brother and I were invited to Sessrumnir, in years past."

"In years past," said Gefjun dryly, "our mother spoke at length about the libertine ways of Asgardians in general and of the Odinsons in particular, and took some trouble to keep us away."

"Well, we were high-spirited youths, I won't deny that - and very fond of company. But we never dallied where we were not wanted. Your mother needn't have feared us seducing you in front of her."

"Perhaps it was our uncle who feared us," Mardoll replied, equally dryly, "seducing _you,_ Prince Loki, away from him."

Loki couldn't deny that. "Freyr has always been a jealous man. Genial, but jealous."

"True enough. But you did not ask us here to flirt, Loki Odinson." Gefjun folded her arms over her chest, a motion which showed him the knives bristling under the sleeves of her tunic, and speared him with an impatient glare. "Your reputation has suffered in the Nine Realms, of late."

"Yes, I know. Being dead will do that. And then being mad. And being dead again. It has been an interesting... decade. Decade?" Loki smiled with cheerful deprecation. "Yes, that sounds about right. But," he continued, the smile sliding into something much more serious, "we will all be dead soon, if you do not hear what I have to say."

Gefjun was quiet, for a moment. "I am not at all inclined to listen to the son of our conqueror," she said at last, "but my sister and I are at our wits' end. Our grandfather sent us from court, separated me from my daughter, and banished us to the ends of the world without so much as a hint of an explanation. Then after we escaped from confinement in Noatun and rode north, we were waylaid by warriors wearing the royal livery, and were only saved by..."

Loki waited. "Yes?"

"I'm still not sure who they were," Gefjun admitted.

"Shadows," said Mardoll simply. "They were shadows. Two of them. And they took down at least twenty armed warriors on horseback in less than five minutes."

Frigga's voice, a true memory this time, sounded in the back of Loki's mind. _"The Koronaugu will need to make contact with Thor soon."_

"Then they told us not to go to Sessrumnir, that we would be in danger there, but to join our mother and Brynja at the Field of Bones, in Volkang. They had... strange voices." Mardoll hunted for words to describe what she had heard, but came up wanting. "Neither a woman's voice nor a man's, nor yet in between. A whisper, really, but louder. And we had no reason to trust them, except that they had appeared from nowhere and saved our lives, and there was something about that voice... it compelled us to obey."

"We had no idea that Mother and Brynja would be here," said Gefjun, "let alone that a ship full of Asgardian colonists--"

"Refugees," Brynja corrected quietly, from her place by the door. "Their realm is gone, Mother. Obliterated."

The Freyasdottirs looked at Loki in horror. He simply spread his hands and nodded.

"How?"

"There will be time for explanations later. Right now, Councilor Freya's life and sanity are in danger, and I need you to listen to me, all three of you."

As concisely as possible, since time was clearly of the essence, Loki laid out his theory of who was behind the troubles in their kingdom and in their family. "I believe that Lorelei has put some kind of geas or spell on Councilor Freya, that prevents her from speaking out and telling us the truth. She has been _trying_ to tell me something since she arrived here and laid eyes on me, but she's been unable to. So she's kept us in limbo, neither giving us what we want in trade goods nor denying us outright and allowing us to leave. I know Lorelei's magic," Loki finished, digging his thumb into his palm and praying that they wouldn't ask _how_ he knew. It wasn't a tale he relished the thought of telling in any more detail than he already had. "And I believe I can break it."

Gefjun raised an eyebrow. "You can free our mother from this spell? Return her to normal?"

"Yes, my lady, I can. If you and your sister will trust me."

The Freyasdottirs traded a glance of wordless communication, and after a few moments, Mardoll nodded. "Very well," Gefjun said grimly. "Not that we have a great deal of choice in the matter. The spell that binds our mother is far beyond the scope of our powers to unbind. So we will trust you, Odinson." And she offered him her hand to seal the bargain.

He felt the cold ghost over his skin the second before their fingers touched, but it was too late to draw back. Loki's hand clasped hers firmly, and then he stared down in dumb astonishment as his skin - and Gefjun's - turned blue. His head jerked back with a cry, but it strangled in his throat. There was a Frost Giant standing in front of him. A strangely pale-blue, smooth-skinned, female Frost Giant, no taller than himself, gripping his hand fast and wearing an identical expression of shock. "You," Loki gasped. "All of you?"

"Yes, of course all of us." Gefjun blinked her red eyes rapidly, as though she doubted her senses. "Our father, blessed be his memory, was a Jotunn. But you, Odinson--"

"Adopted," said Loki automatically. His mind was racing, careening through possibilities and permutations, too fast for him to keep up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brynja huddled by the door, her arms wrapped around her body and her face awash with misery.

Mardoll was watching him keenly. "Sister, look at his clan marks. The shape of the half-moon knife, as Father had. And his face - I noticed it before - he looks like Aunt Nal, in both Jotunn and Asgardian forms."

_“You look very much like your mother,” said Freya wistfully, touching his face._

“Ancestors,” Gefjun breathed. “Prince Loki, it’s – it’s you. You’re the baby. The one that was lost.”

* * *

Falling back on her early training as a court page, a silent Brynja brought horns of mead to her mother and aunt, and to Loki, to help settle all of their nerves. She brushed her fingers over Loki's as she handed him his drink, an echo of how she had first gingerly touched Lyka's hand at their first formal meeting, and her breath stuttered in her throat when her skin as well as his briefly flared a Jotnar blue.

Loki tried not to flinch too noticeably. She was a child, he reminded himself, isolated and frightened. And she cared for Lyka. He could not lash out.

"Our father was Thrym," said Gefjun softly. "He was a prince of Jotunheim, and brother to Queen Nal of the Solsetur. He often told us the tale of our cousin, Laufey's heir, who had been lost to Asgard. But we always thought you had been given away to some nameless Aesir family. It never occurred to any of us that Odin himself would have raised you."

"It was not his idea." Loki's throat was tight, and he could not swallow the strong mead. "It was Frigga's. She was the one who wanted me, after Laufey... would not take me back. And then for a thousand years, the secret was kept. From Asgard... from me."

"From Freya." Mardoll's hand tightened around her horn. "If she had seen you before, she would have known whose son you are, as I did. You look so very much like your mother."

This time, Loki did flinch. "And all this time, I thought I looked like Odin," he tried to joke.

Mardoll shook her head. "Those eyes are not the eyes of the House of Odin. And he would have known it. Perhaps that is why Mother was always led to believe her daughters would be in danger from his sons... so that none of us would ever see you, and guess the truth."

"So... this is why Grandmother has been behaving so strangely?" Brynja sat down on her cot, beside Loki, and looking furtively at him from beneath her eyelids, as though afraid of offending him. "She has been trying to protect you, and to warn you about Lorelei, because you're her nephew... all without saying a word?"

Her nephew.

Loki thrust the connection away to deal with later. Or never, preferably. "And, no doubt, it explains her deep anger towards Odin, for the treatment of her husband's family as well as of her people." He forced himself to drink his mead, and then stood up. "I cannot mend all of these old hurts, but I can at least prevent any more from occurring."

"Yes," Gefjun agreed. "Let us go and speak with Mother."


	61. The One Who Was Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As mysteries are put to rest, others loom on the horizon, and an old enemy waits as Thor and Loki ready their people - and their family - for war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters on a Sunday (with half an hour to spare) and we're done - exactly 6 months after this fic began. I thought it was going to be maybe fifteen chapters AT MOST, and then it took on a life of its own. 
> 
> I had wanted to end this fic at sixty chapters, but I had to post a single scene as an earlier standalone chapter, so we're closing out at sixty-one instead. As Meldanya put it, 'Loki's a stubborn little bastard and likes prime numbers.' Apparently. XD
> 
> I'm going to take a little time to outline the next story properly, and then this series (yes, it's a series! If you haven't done so already, [subscribe to the series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/872829)) will return with a nice juicy prequel to fill in some of the backstory I've been hinting at for half a year. Dear lord.
> 
> In the meantime, if you're over on Tumblr, please consider following me at [gaslightgallows.tumblr.com](http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com) for more fic, reblogs about writing, and lots of randomness. 
> 
> **AND** if you really like me, follow my original writing blog at [afliney.tumblr.com](http://aflinley.tumblr.com) for all the stuff I can't talk about here without violating AO3's terms of use!
> 
> To my long-term readers for sticking with this story from beginning to end, and for the people who found me halfway through, and the people who are just now finding this fic: thank you, as always, for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Lyka sat on the hill with her arms wrapped around her knees. She kept one eye on Brynja's tent, waiting for something to happen, and every so often scanned the milling crowds of nervous Vanir, watching the uneasy preparations and wondering if they were truly in danger of being attacked, and most of all, wondering where her brother was. She had not seen him since the night before, when they had sat on the riverbank and Thialfi had cursed himself and Loki for telling them things about themselves that they had never wanted to know.

She had wanted him to come back to their tents, so that she could make sure he slept, but he had insisted on doing his duty as a healer and attending to the Hulk. But he had not yet reappeared, and after what they had seen the enraged creature do to Loki, Lyka was beginning to fear...

A slim figure came into view at the silvery edge of the river, just beyond the hospital tent. Lyka's eyes went wide for a moment, and then she leaped to her feet and sprinted down the hill and across the field like a deer and flung herself into her little brother's arms.

"Don't do that again," she ordered, half-scolding and half-sobbing. "I thought I'd lost you."

* * *

"You say you have experience with this magic," Mardoll said, while Gefjun and Brynja took up flanking positions around the councilor's pavilion. "Have you experience in unbinding spells?"

"It's been some time since I've had to make the attempt," said Loki, affecting an airy manner that he did not entirely feel, "but yes, I do."

He did not mention that his one attempt had been when he was a very young man still in his first century, and that it had resulted in him spending weeks in the halls of healing recovering from third-degree burns that had stubbornly refused to mend. He had been through far worse pain since then, and besides, Freya had pissed him off enough to make him want to risk it.

"Well, I hope you know what you're doing. We have magic of our own, my sister and I, from both sides of our heritage, though Brynja's got nothing, poor lass. But we've nothing like what you're reputed to have."

"I was very well-taught," he said grimly, holding up his hand and letting sparks of seidr dance around his fingers the way Thor toyed with lightning. Oh, but it felt _good_. "And I'm unusually unfettered at the moment."

"Eh?"

"I have no other spells weighing me down, at the moment, so I am feeling very free and easy. Hopefully, it will make this quicker." Loki closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath, and pushed away all of his perturbed and complicated emotions about the women around him. Now was not the time.

He opened his eyes and grinned like a demon. "Let's go."

Mardoll drew her sword and followed a pace behind. On opposite sides of the pavilion, the other two women drew their weapons as well.

When he had nearly reached the door of the pavilion, Loki charged a dagger with seidr energy and swept it before him, breaking through the fabric of the force field that Freya had erected without breaking his stride. "I'm disappointed, Councilor!" he called. "I expected better."

He was met with a rain of Vanii curses and a barrage of blows from all sides, like invisible fists. He warded himself as best he could to withstand the punches, and shouted. "Now!"

As one, Brynja and Gefjun sliced through the fabric of the pavilion on either side, disrupting Freya's concentration. They rushed in and took her captive, each one pinning her arms to her sides and binding her hands.

"Blood traitors," she spat, her eyes like burning charcoal, "all of you! Do you not realize what you have done? You--"

Mardoll stuffed a rag into her mother's mouth, as gently as possible. "I am so, so very sorry," she muttered.

She stepped aside, and Loki took her place. He gestured for Freya to be forced to her knees, and then knelt before her. "I realize very much what I'm doing," he assured her quietly. "And I know something of what _you_ have been doing, Lady of Vanaheim. And though I cannot easily forgive you for the amount of annoyance you have caused me and my people, I also can't deny that I am deeply impressed with your fortitude." He looked at the others. "Get ready. There's no gentle way to do this quickly, and there may be a somewhat... dramatic reaction."

Brynja took a deep breath and looked away.

"Forgive us, Mother," Gefjun muttered.

Loki pressed his palm to Freya's forehead, drove a blade of seidr into her consciousness, and then with a level of brute force that made him retch, he wrenched it out, tearing a hole in the spell that bound her free will.

She shrieked as though she were being dragged to across hot coals, but Loki ignored it and plunged into her mind, ripping through the vicious spider's web of the geas, and with them, the memories that Freya had been unable to act upon.

_"You're a nuisance," Lorelei said, with a cold predatory smile and a voice that was almost teasing in its feigned fondness. "You and your freak of a grandchild. Really, the best thing to do with you would be to kill you. But," she continued, moving the edge of the blade away from Freya's throat, "I think you could still be of use to me. Especially with Sif still here, and now that she's found Thor again... and Loki." A mix of contempt and fear colored her words. "So, this is what you will do..."_

The remnants of the spell exploded from Freya's mind and into Loki's, blasting him backwards. His skull cracked against one of the pavilion's supports, and he blacked out.

* * *

"You really need to stop making a habit of this, Lackey."

The voice was annoyed, but familiar, so Loki groped towards the sound. "Ow," he winced, and closed his eyes again. "What happened?"

"Your unbinding spell worked," said Brun. "Of course, you also managed to level Freya's tent and knock out both her and yourself, but at least that's all you did."

"Good, I... good. No burns?"

"No, no burns."

"Then why does everything hurt? Did you actually beat me up while I was unconscious this time? I--" He felt a warm pair of lips press against his, and half of the pain remaining from the seidr blast melted away. Loki opened his eyes and blinked up at Brun. "Thank you, that was... nice."

"You're just lucky there are witnesses," she retorted, helping him to sit up. "Because I am so damned tempted to slap you for scaring the fuck out of me _again_ this week."

"Promises, promises..." Loki looked around at the assembled people gathered in the hospital tent, both Asgardian and Vanir, and singled out the most vital. "Thor, I was right. It's her. It's Lorelei. She's been responsible for everything since the beginning--"

Thor broke off his quiet conversation. "I know, Loki," he said, as he turned and revealed that the person he had been speaking with was Councilor Freya herself, sitting upright in a cot and looking very pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes as though she had not slept in weeks. "We've just been discussing it."

"Yes, it is true." Freya lifted her head from her hands and sat up in her bed, facing Thor with what tatters of regal dignity remained to her. "Everything that Prince Loki saw. It is all true. I am a weak and ashamed old woman, not fit for my station, after all that I have said and done. But I will tell you what I know, now that my tongue is free to speak.

"I was sent to get rid of you, to make sure you and your people left Vanaheim, whatever the cost. She knew that you had Lady Sif among your number, as well as women who helped to defeat Hela--" Freya nodded respectfully at Brun. "--and she was not willing to risk sending her army against Thor's people. She also," she added pointedly, "expressed to me her lack of desire to meet with Loki again."

"The feeling is mutual, but alas, now untenable. So she sent you."

Freya nodded. "She sent me, under a geas that prevented me from revealing what I knew in any way, to move you out of the realm as quickly as possible, either by giving or refusing you what you wanted."

"But you did neither." Loki's smile was hard and admiring. "You strung me along, tempting me like a horse with sugar."

"Yes. It was the only way I could find, to fight the spell, to feed out just enough rope to keep you hanging on out of sheer spite."

"She played you like a puppet, brother," said Thor dryly.

"I did, to my shame." The regal woman bowed her head. "But it was for the sake of my people that I did so. You are the most powerful Aesir sorcerer left, now that Odin is dead, and I need your help, Loki of Asgard, to free my father and brother and the men of Sessrumnir from Lorelei's enchantments."

Loki contemplated the elderly stateswoman for a moment, his lips pursed in thought and his eyes hooded, giving away nothing. "I can do nothing without the consent of my king," he said finally. "Brother? What say you?"

"I hardly know what to say," Thor replied, his tone carefully neutral. "Lady Sif? Valkyrie?"

"The only sane course of action that we can take," said Sif, surprised to find herself the reluctant voice of reason in the company, "is to leave. That is not what I would _advise_ that we do - I would prefer to stay and fight, rather than leave Loki here to battle Lorelei on his own. But for the sake of our people..."

Brun nodded, though she didn't look happy about being sensible. "We should. We should cut our losses and run like hell."

Thor and Heimdall traded a glance, and then the king looked at his brother. Loki's green eyes glittered, but he said nothing.

"You're right," said Thor. "That is what we should do. But we're not going to." He waited for objections, but his council was silent, waiting for his orders. "Lorelei is too dangerous to be left to her own devices. Six hundred years ago she laid waste to the Nine Realms and nearly overran them. We can't let that happen again, if we can stop her. And we _will_ stop her, all of us. If," he amended, turning to Freya, "we have Vanaheim's permission to intercede. I won't make the same mistakes that Odin did. Asgard will not interfere where we are not welcome."

"I am already begging for your aid, my lord," said Freya, but gratefully. "As my father and brother are not here to make a formal request, it is up to me. You have Vanaheim's permission and more, to deal with this sorcerer as you see fit."

She offered her hand, and Thor clasped it. "The bargain," he rumbled, "is struck."

Freya bowed to him, as best she could while sitting in her bed, and then turned her ancient eyes on Loki. "You know."

"Yes," he said, uncomfortably, not wishing to rehash everything he had learned in front of everyone, not just yet. He would tell Brun, and Sif and Thor, of course.

And then he wondered when it had become 'of course', and if he liked that or not.

He wasn't sure that he was.

"I will say no more now, except to assure you that from this day, you and your children will be protected as members of my own family, however we may."

Loki nodded, ignoring the curious looks from his brother and lover. "Thank you." He rose from his bed, evading Vala's attempts to keep him there. "Speaking of my children, I need to speak with them. Thor? I will... find you later."

Thor nodded. "Take your time, brother."

He left the hospital tent in an unseemly hurry, and made a solemn pledge not to set foot in there for the rest of his stay on Vanaheim. He was becoming far too familiar with the place.

It wasn't hard to find Lyka and Thialfi. Like himself, they seemed drawn to the riverbank as a good place to think and to be alone. To brood, as his mother would have said.

 _Oh, Mother, I hope you knew what you were doing,_ he found himself thinking, as he approached the two young people sitting together on the grass, with their feet in the sand and their heads, one smooth and blond, the other curly and brown, leaned close together. _The binding spell on Freya was nothing compared to the strength with which you locked away their powers. I don't know if I'll be able to free their magic on my own... and we will need them soon._

Just beyond where Lyka and Thialfi sat, stood the sand castle Loki had constructed a few days ago, bereft of banners on its turrets and dragons in its moat. He raised his hand and murmured a few words, and the castle sprang back to life. The seaweed guardians roared with tiny ferocity.

"Oh!" said Lyka, startled and delighted. She craned her neck around and smiled at him.

Thialfi reacted rather differently to Loki's approach: he hunched his shoulders even more and would not turn around.

"Did... were you able to help Councilor Freya?" Lyka ventured to ask.

"Yes, it's all done and settled, and everyone is fine. I'll fill you in on the details later, but for now... Lyka, would you mind leaving us alone for a little? I'm sure Brynja could use a friendly face just now, and I would like to sit and talk with Thialfi."

She nodded and rose to go, touching her brother's shoulder lightly as she went. Loki caught her arm as she passed him, and pulled her into a quick embrace. "Thank you," he murmured huskily.

"...For what, Uncle?"

Without thinking, she had reverted to her old name for him, from her childhood, but Uncle or Father, it was all the same to him, from her. He smiled and kissed her cheek. "I'll bring him back to you safely, my girl."

He watched her go, and then took a step or two closer to the youth on the grass. "Thialfi."

"What? What do you _want_?"

"Exactly what I told your sister. To sit and talk with you."

"What can you say? Will it bring back my peace of mind? Or any notion that I have a right to be alive? How do I go on with my life now, knowing what I know? How do I face people? Hell, how am I supposed to face _myself_ , now that I know? How can--" His voice broke. "How could anyone love a monster like _me_?"

“You’re not. There’s nothing monstrous about you. After all, of the two of us, I’d say that I have far more claim to that designation than you do.”

“Being a Jotunn doesn’t make _you_ a monster.”

“...Perhaps not,” Loki conceded, though in a tone of voice that said he was far from convinced. “But what I’ve done... does.”

More than a little shaken by the acute self-loathing he sensed from his son, he sat down in the grass beside him. "I... know something of what you are feeling, you know." He worried his palm absently with the fingertips of his opposite hand. "I once told Thor, under... less-than-ideal circumstances, that all I wanted was to be his equal in Odin's eyes. And then, through pain, and death, and loss, I was forced to realize that the things I wanted most from Odin - to be accepted for who and what I am, to be as valued and prized as I believe Thor to be... were things I was never going to get. Because everything I thought about my father was a lie."

Thialfi dragged his sleeve across his eyes and stared at Loki in utter confusion. "Is any of this meant to make me feel better, or are you just talking to hear yourself talk?"

A sad smile tugged at Loki's mouth. "I have a point to make, I promise. You see, what I came to understand was that Odin _had_ valued and prized me, the same as Thor. Perhaps even the same as Hela. But that value was always in viewing us all as obedient subjects, as commodities, never as children. It was never enough to safeguard any of us from his wrath. And that respect of equals that I so craved was never something Odin would have been capable of giving, except at the moment of his death, when he had nothing left to hide."

_“I love you, my sons.”_

"Above all else, Odin feared his children, and kept us at bay however he could. He feared Hela for what she became, and he feared his sons for what we _might_ have become, and it nearly destroyed us all. And I know that I am also afraid of a great many things... but of the children who might have been mine, in another life? Never."

He put an arm around Thialfi's unprotesting shoulders and drew the boy's head against his chest, and said the words that might have saved them all, had the Allfather uttered them, even once.

"I'm sorry."

Thialfi choked, and then buried his sobs in Loki's chest. His father kissed his head, and rested his cheek on Thialfi's curly hair. "It's all right," he murmured. "Everything will be all right."

When he had cried himself out, Loki took Thialfi firmly by the shoulders and held him up straight, and looked him squarely in the eye. “Your part in all of this isn’t written yet. You write your own stories. You have to decide what role you are going to take.”

* * *

The sun was setting by the time Loki saw Thialfi safe into his sister's care. The boy had insisted on checking on the Hulk again, who had moved from his quarters on the ship to a sheltered spot down the river, where he could see and be seen from the camp without bothering anyone. Loki had promised to tell Brun about the new plan, and the practical part of his brain told him that it was well past time for supper, time for rest, time to seek his bed and the warmth of his lover's arms.

But his skin prickled with energy, and his heart felt raw and fragile. He wanted, he realized, to go home. To run up the steps to the family wing of Asgard's palace three at a time, and bound into his mother's solar to tell her about his day. He wanted to hear Frigga scolding him fondly for missing meals in favour of hunting up ancient manuscripts in the library, to listen to Odin grumbling about bureaucratic inanities over his mead, and to ask Sigyn about how her new students were shaping up.

It was gone. All of it was gone.

"No," Loki murmured to himself, very softly, lest anyone else should hear and mock him for his childish need. "Only almost all."

He raised a hand and sent out a tiny spark of green-gold seidr to seek and find. It buzzed off like a firefly, and then in a minute or so, flew back to his fingers. Loki listened to what it told him, and chuckled to himself. "Of course."

He extinguished the spark and made his way to the training field at the edge of the camp. Normally deserted at this time of night, the lamps ringing it were bright with foxfire, and hard at work at the dummies was the King of Asgard.

Loki hitched his legs easily over the split-rail fence and sat on a post for a little while, watching his brother try his hand at some basic beginner's sword forms. It was... painful, really. Thor had not had much time, since the battle on the Bifrost, to properly adjust to the loss of his eye, and though he was good enough in a fist fight and with his lightning, when it came down to armed combat, his balance and aim were badly off-center.

"I think the dummy's out-flanking you," he called.

Thor turned and spied him sitting on the fence, and tried to grin. "It's a feint," he called back. "I'll get him, in the end." He spun the sword's hilt in his hand. "Care to give it a go?"

"If you insist." Loki dropped lightly to the ground and called his daggers to his hands. "But I hope you don't expect me to play fair."

"When have you _ever_ played fair?" Thor retorted, and charged.

"Well, certainly not this night," said Loki, half a minute later, with Thor disarmed and face-down in the dirt.

"You took me by surprise," Thor grumbled, his voice muffled by the soil.

"Obviously."

The king sighed and rolled over onto his back. "This," he said succinctly, "sucks."

"You're just going to have to get used to it, I'm afraid."

"I haven't got time to get used to it. Lorelei could attack any day. I have to be ready to fight."

"You're the king now - you can appoint generals to fight for you. At least until you've got your form back." He offered Thor his hand to help him to his feet. "Perhaps... I could help?"

Thor raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Well, I could show you how to throw daggers, for one thing. You never trained with Mother or Sigyn the way Sif and I did, and even if you never use it in battle, it should help you retrain your eye, and steady your balance."

He made the suggestion lightly, as something that made no difference to him one way or the other. If Thor brushed it off, as Loki more than half expected he would, he could laugh and change the subject. After all, Thor had always disdained dagger combat at unworthy of a proper warrior - it was why Sif had given up the art - so why should he change his mind now?

And in fact, Thor stared at him for so long that Loki felt sure he would eventually burst into laughter. "You know what, forget it, it was a stupid idea--"

"Loki." Thor gripped his neck in the old brotherly way. "I would be honored."

Loki blinked and then let out a tense, breathy laugh. "All right, then."

He made a mark on the dummy to use as a target, then put a dagger into Thor's hand and showed him how to stand, how to aim, and how to throw, and then stepped back and let him try.

"Oh," Thor groaned, "that was pitiful."

"Well, no one ever said you'd take to it immediately."

Loki reached out to correct Thor's stance, and smiled to remember their mother doing the same for him, long ago. "It just takes practice, brother. A little patience for a change won't kill you. Besides, it's never too late to learn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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